Thirteenth to Fifth
by The Wykkyd
Summary: Harry Potter's new life as a student at the School of the Arts is complicated. With gangs, drugs, and abuse in his past, and Draco Malfoy and dance in his future, the trouble starts when Harry is forced to figure out his place in the present. HD HG
1. Auditions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, or any characters associated with J.K. Rowling's series. Come on, guys.

**Rating** (please read all of this...I don't want you to yell at me later): **M** (mature), for swearing, underage drug/alcohol use, sexual actions, generally mature themes, and ideologically sensitive material (child abuse, anorexia [kinda-sorta], and male/male pairings). Also, as I am adapting the HP characters into an urban AU setting, and I'm always going for the realistic, in this story I mention groups based on race, religious orientation, and sexual orientation. Do not take this as my personal preferences: I am not racist, against any particular religion, and obviously, homosexually doesn't bother me. Please, don't read if it offends you...although I probably don't have to tell you that...

**Summary**: Harry Potter's new life as a student in the School of the Arts is complicated. With gangs, drugs, and abuse in his past, and Draco Malfoy and dance in his future, the trouble starts when he's forced to figure out the present. HD HG (Harry/George...not main pairing)

**A****/****N**: I'm posting this chapter earlier than I planned: I was going to wait until I was out of school and into summer vacation, but I'm kind of rewarding myself for a month of non-stop work with no fun involved. I'm also posting this because I've been assaulted with so many fantastic ideas for stories and I want to write them, but I don't want to give this one up because I really do love the plot-line. Anyway...this plot has been in the making for over a year now, and began when I was on a rock climbing trip with my family. The original idea for this story came to me when I was fifty feet up in the air clinging to sandstone for dear life.

An important thing to note: I write this story in a city setting, but I'm not writing it in any specific city. While I write it I'm thinking of a New York City/Las Angeles/San Fransisco crossover. You should imagine that too!

And without further ado...May I present:

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Auditions**

All around him there were children running and parents screaming at them, women sitting on the sidewalks putting on makeup and adjusting their breasts inside tight, short dresses; there were teen guys dressed in baggy jeans and huge t-shirts talking in conspiratorial voices as the occasional lone man or woman jogged through the streets, looking at their feet and jumping at every loud voice that reached their ears. Drunks wandered through the streets, their hands and eyes sometimes roaming too far; and the taxis, with their checkered sides gleaming and horns blaring.

The loud yelling began to fade as he moved on, head up and eyes searching the shadows for hidden attackers waiting for some stupid kid to come along. There were more people on the streets in the residential areas: passed out drunks, begging families, coke addicts clawing at their arms with long nails, trying to rid themselves of invisible bugs. Harry skated past all of them, never making eye contact, and moved through the alleys and streets on quick and mostly silent wheels.

The apartment was quiet save for the television playing in his uncle's bedroom, the noise of a violent action show muffled by the closed door. Harry walked into the closet that served as his room, his steps as quiet as possible, and set his worn bag on the mattress that served as his bed as he tossed his skateboard on the floor. He pulled his water bottle out and threw it near the door so he would remember to re-fill it later. The thin, black, stretchy pants were pulled out as well, a small t-shirt tossed in the pile on top of the pants. Next were the shoes: held together by threads, more holes than canvas. They were still slightly damp with sweat and Harry set them aside to dry before...well, whenever he would get to use them again. There was a bottle of gel in the bag that he tossed on top of his upside-down box that served as a table before withdrawing his black bracelet from the bottom of the bag and tying it onto his left wrist with practiced moves. Harry grabbed his audition number from the outside pocket and chucked the bag in the corner of the small room before collapsing on the bed to give his throbbing muscles a break.

Harry's hands automatically unfolded the piece of paper in his hands, the bold number 'two hundred and fourteen' staring at him. He sighed. He didn't really believe in unlucky or lucky numbers, but if he had an unlucky number, two hundred and fourteen would have been it. February fourteenth: the day his parents died in the accident....the day a shard of glass carved a neat scar into his forehead as a souvenir of the event. It was a day that Harry didn't remember—he wasn't even two years old then—but it was also one he couldn't forget, so drastic were the consequences. After the accident he had been sent to live with his only living relatives: the Dursleys. Back then the three Dursleys made a happy family, but as Harry grew through his toddler years and became a young boy of school age, problems arose. Dudley—his cousin older by a few months—was diagnosed with diabetes and the medical bills started arriving. At first Vernon's steady job at Grunning's Tools covered them, but when things went wrong and Dudley and Petunia were spending more time at the hospital than at home the financial stability that both Vernon and Petunia cherished began slipping away into a heap of debt. And when Dudley died...well, Harry's fragile life crashed down around his ears. As Petunia fell into depression and Vernon grew bitter and spiteful, Harry took to the streets, skipping school every day there wasn't an important test, instead running with one of the smaller gangs led by a few kids he knew. Petunia killed herself just months after her son's death, and Vernon bottomed out at his job. They were left with no choice but to move to thirteenth district. Vengeance and anger were played out on the only member of Vernon's family left: Harry Potter. And thus Harry's childhood so far had been one of fear and pain, with only a handful of joyful moments.

Most kids in his situation ended up on the streets as drug dealers, alcoholics, whores, or some sick combination of all three; Harry knew this. But there were stories of people who got out of the slums, people who got a good education through a scholarship and went on to _be_ something. That was why Harry found himself at an audition for the best school of the performing arts in the city earlier that day, the number 'two hundred and fourteen' pinned to his front. He hadn't danced in such a long time—almost a year—but the simple happy memories he had of that dance class gave him the courage to drag his dance outfit out from a box in his room and skate the seven blocks to the bus stop, which took him near the school. There, he filled out his application and joined the other two hundred and fifty high-schoolers in a large studio. The steps came back to him quickly, exhilaration almost overwhelming him as he felt himself dance across the floor. Most of the scholarship applicants were like him, kids whose families had fallen apart and were looking for a way out; but unlike him, most had never danced in their life. Within half an hour their were less than a hundred kids left, with the instructor callings out names of the dismissed every fifteen minutes. Harry's hands began to sweat as the steps got harder, the combinations longer and difficult to remember instantly. There were a few kids who knew how to dance and they moved with confidence and grace, while he began to feel clumsy and as if he weighed five hundred pounds.

There were only thirty scholarship positions for sophomores—some full, most partial—fifteen of which went to instrumentalists (vocalists included), nine to actors, and the remaining six left for dancers. Meaning six of two hundred and fifty kids would make it into the school, and then maybe even less than that would make it through the end of the year. Two hours into the audition there were ten children left. Desperate competitiveness filled Harry, the fear that he would be forced back into the crime-ridden school near his home a blooming reality as he danced his way through emotions of fear and nerves.

"Chin _up_, two hundred and fourteen! _Smile_!" The instructor demanded of him. Harry lifted his head and forced his lips into a smile, hoping that the rest of his face wouldn't give his anxiety away. Before he spun away he caught a glimpse of a smile on the instructor's face as she looked at him again. Maybe...just maybe... "Everyone out. Results will be posted this time tomorrow. Please keep in mind only six of you will be attending this school, if that. You would do well to remember that life is a _struggle_, and a _competition_. Good luck," The woman said, her voice trim and clear. Harry looked away from her piercing gaze. She was right, life was hard....But all he wanted was a way out...No. He _needed_ a way out.

…

"Dinner, boy, _dinner_!" Vernon yelled from his room, his words a drunken slur. Harry was already in the kitchen, thinking about what he could possible find to eat that would be acceptable enough to not earn him a beating. There were three apples in the back of the fridge that he had hidden from his uncle three days ago, a bunch of old lettuce that he needed to throw out, and a bit of soup that Mrs. Weasley had made for him yesterday. Harry pulled the bowl out with a sigh and poured the contents of it into a saucepan, turning on the stove and grabbing a spoon to stir with as he did so. He poured a glass of milk—even though he knew it would be ignored for Vernon's seventh or eight beer of the evening—and brought it to his uncle, knocking softly on the door before opening it. The room smelled like alcohol and sweat, a combination that Harry had almost grown used to in all these years living without Dudley or Petunia.

"It'll be ready in a sec, Vernon. Um...I'll need to go shopping tomorrow...." Harry said softly, his eyes on the floor as his uncle grabbed the glass from him and slammed it down on the single-person table near his knee.

"Remind me later. And get my goddamn dinner!" Vernon yelled, his eyes never leaving the screen. Harry rolled his eyes and went back to the kitchen to stir the soup. Vernon wasn't in a good mood tonight, Harry noted as he poured the soup back into the bowl and placed his stirring spoon in it. Asking him for fifty bucks to shop with would be a tricky task unless he wanted to spend the night passed out cold with shards of a bottle in his skull. Harry went back into Vernon's room and gave his uncle the soup. As he turned to leave Vernon grabbed Harry's wrist, strong fingers digging into his pale skin. "Where the hell were you today?" Vernon asked, his voice still slurred but containing a furious edge. Harry trying to pull his arm away from his uncle, wanting to back up, but Vernon's fingers only tights. "Where the _fuck_ were you, boy?"

"I...I was just at the school. Registration and everything," Harry lied, his heart pounding. Vernon's grip grew even tighter, making the petite teen wince and try to twist away.

"I didn't get a letter about it."

"Yeah...the lady called this morning and said they lost the address and that I needed to come in," Harry said, forcing fear out of his voice. There was a moment where only the screams and explosions could be heard from the TV, before Harry felt a jerk on his arm and he went flying to the floor, hitting his head on the single-person table that had the glass of milk on it. The glass was knocked over, milk splashing all over Harry and the glass shattering thudding to the floor.

"You're a fucking liar, boy. Get out of this room; if I even _hear_ you tonight I'll beat the shit out of you," Vernon snarled. Harry scrambled to his feet and fled the room, his head spinning from knocking it against the table. As he stumbled into the kitchen the phone rang and Harry dove to pick it up before his uncle heard. As he pressed the talk button, Harry sank down to the couch, closing his eyes against the lights flashing into and out of his vision.

"_Harry?_" Ron's voice came through the receiver.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, pressing a hand to his forehead where a lump was already starting to form, wiping milk away.

"_Dude, where were you today? I thought you were gonna help me and George and Fred egg Mr. Valentine's new set of wheels!" _Ron exclaimed. Harry smiled to himself.

"Ron, you let them sucker you into doing that?" he asked. He could imagine his friend's guilty shrug. "Never mind. Listen," Harry paused, listening for the sound of the television in Vernon's room before continuing, "Remember I told you about that school?"

"_The dance and art thing?" _Ron affirmed.

"Yeah. They had auditions for the dancers today. The full scholarship audition," Harry whispered into the receiver.

"_You didn't seriously audition," _Ron deadpanned. Harry smirked.

"I seriously did. And I made it into the top ten."

"_Fuck! So are you in?" _Ron exclaimed.

"I find out tomorrow. There's only six scholarships for dancers, so four of us won't get in," Harry answered.

"_You'll do it, Harry. You'll get in...be a professionally gay dancer...all of that," _Ron said with encouragement. "_Anyway, do you wanna come over? We can sneak into the theater and catch that new movie_," Ron asked.

"Uh...I'll pass. I don't want to make things worse over here," Harry answered.

"_Worse_?"

"Vernon's drunk and in a bad mood," Harry said by way of explanation. His friend understood.

"_Okay. Don't get too banged up. I'll see ya tomorrow then," _Ron said, hanging up, Harry followed suit and set the phone back in its charger, going to the freezer for an ice pack to prevent swelling. He was pretty open about his home life with his friends who lived near him, not because he wasn't ashamed of it, but because no one around there could do anything about it. There were tons of kids who got beaten up by their parents every night in this district: Harry's case wasn't much worse then their situation. Ron's mom did what she could, making food for Harry and trying her best to make sure he got at least one meal every day, but she had a large family to take care of and couldn't afford to do much more for Harry. Vernon's nephew was grateful for everything she did for him.

_God, what would it be like to be out of here in three years?_ Harry wondered, pressing the ice-pack to his forehead and walking into his room. _What would it be like to wake up without bruises and feeling hungry? What would it be like to not come home to a drunk guardian... to do what I want, to walk through streets without looking for rapists and muggers? _Harry sighed, shaking his head. Even if he _did_ get into the school, it wasn't necessarily going to get him into a college somewhere, or get him a good job. It was just a school...the rest was up to him. _And if I _don't_ get in_? the small teenager asked himself. _It's back to the Thirteenth District Hell Hole, _he thought with a grim smile.

The black haired boy glanced at the clock hung on his wall. It was seven o'clock; it should get dark in an hour or two. Harry walked back out of his room, grabbing his skateboard on the way, and knocked on Vernon's door, poking his head in.

"I'm going out for a while," he informed his uncle. The fat man grunted, too far gone by now to care.

"Where?"

"_Out_," Harry snapped, shutting the door and grabbing his jacket from the kitchen counter, making sure his small knife was in the right pocket. He walked out of the apartment and jumped on his board, going west into the red light district. It had been a while since he had seen Cho.

Cho Chang was a year older than him, born to a prostitute who had evidently shared her trade with her daughter. Harry had never asked about the father, as it was more than likely he had been one of hundreds of customers. He had dated Cho for a few months last year, but it had been hard between their situations. Eventually they had just let each other go, although they remained friends.

Cho was standing at her usual corner, batting heavily mascaraed lashes at men, young and old. Harry gave her a friendly smile as he rolled up to her, and she let the lusty and aroused look fall from her face, replaced by a youthful grin.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, walking over to greet him and throwing her arms around his neck in an embrace. Harry returned the gesture with his own greetings, putting one foot on the ground to keep from rolling away. "God, you've gotten so skinny!" Cho said, feeling around his rib cage. Harry shrugged out of her arms, shaking his head.

"It's not that bad," he said. She gave him a look but he just shrugged. "How have you been?"

"Oh, pretty good. Business is going well...if you can say that about this business at all," she commented. Harry nodded, agreeing with her. "So...I heard a rumor about a certain audition?" Cho said with raised eyebrows and a smirk. Harry laughed at her eagerness for gossip.

"Yeah. I went down to Fifth Avenue School of the Arts and auditioned for a full dance scholarship," Harry answered. "But I can't let my uncle know, he'll beat the shit outta me for trying to get out of this place. You know," he said with a wry look. Cho nodded.

"Got it. But _wow,_ Harry! That's _great! _I really, really hope you get it; you deserve it," she said with a beam. Harry nodded in thanks. Cho linked arms with him, glaring off a few men who were approaching the two of them, either looking for company from herself or Harry. "Let's go get something to eat. My treat," she said firmly. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she clapped her left hand over his lips. He glared. "I've got thirty bucks in my pocket, and you probably haven't eaten since sometime yesterday, with the way you take _such _good care of yourself," Cho commented sarcastically. Harry kept his mouth shut instead of lying to his friend. The black-haired girl gave him a triumphant smile and began walking in the direction of a favorite restaurant of Harry's. The teenager boy stumbled forward, hanging on to Cho's arm and grabbing his skateboard from underneath his left foot as she dragged him along.

Cho had taken him out countless times since she met Vernon last year. Harry had tried his best to prevent their meeting in the first place, but Cho hadn't listened to him and had gotten herself into the most vicious argument with his uncle Harry had ever seen. He had paid hell for it after Cho had left; there were still scars on his shoulder from shards of glass that had been thrown at him.

Dinner with Cho was nice and relaxed, and well received by the half-starving boy. They talked more about dance and the audition, and Cho's new boyfriend Cedric_._

As the streets grew dark outside, Cho stood up, paying the bill with a sultry wink at the waiter.

"I need to get going...dusk and all," she said, and Harry knew she wanted to get back to her post. He nodded and stood up, stretching.

"No problem; I owe you for dinner," he said, but she shook it off.

"Don't worry about it," Cho said. Harry's pride was burning a hole in him, but more than half the time he couldn't afford pride, so he just gave her a quick hug of gratitude.

"I'll walk you back," he offered.

"Naw; I'll be fine, you know it," she said. Harry did know it, but he thought he would offer like he always did. His eyes flicked down to her thigh, where the faintest outline of a knife could be seen. She wielded it with a viciousness that he hadn't expected from her, but she was the one who had taught him what little he could pick up, and Harry had learned very fast that Cho Chang was capable of a lot more than she looked.

The two said goodnight, Cho giving Harry a kiss on the cheek and a wink.

"See you later, Harry. Don't get caught on the way home," she said in a motherly tone. Harry just grinned—his standard, lopsided grin that he figured he had inherited from his father—and dropped his skateboard on the ground before stepping onto it and pushing off. Vernon should be asleep by now, either that or bar hopping somewhere. The silence in his apartment would be welcomed.

The call would come tomorrow...the call that pretty much told him if he was going to grow up and be a cheap whore like most of his friends, or if had a chance to get out of this place. _How lame...putting your whole future on some fucking phone call_, Harry realized, shaking his head.

* * *

God...you guys have no idea how pleased I am to finally post this. Leave a note letting me know if you like it so far, please.

Don't count on regular updates until summer rolls around for me. I've still got to live through finals.

-Wykkyd


	2. In

I do not own HP characters. Don't, I don't know, sue me or anything.

**Summary**: Harry Potter's new life as a student in the School of the Arts is complicated. With gangs, drugs, and abuse in his past, and Draco Malfoy and dance in his future, the trouble starts when he's forced to figure out the present. HD HG (Harry/George...not main pairing)

**A/N: **I feel like I'm leaving something out above this...um...rating (M)? Okay, whatever. Random note: I will be re-writing the sloppy summary for this story at some point, so if you guys see the title on the front page, but with an altered summary, yes, it's the same story.

Anyway, I'm through with most of my finals now, only one left, and will start posting a little more regularly. For some reason I'm finding inspiration for this story not very abundant, but that changes on a dime, so no worries yet. And with that...I have nothing else to say. Enjoy the chapter!

Ha...I lied. I remembered what I had to say. This story will not be betaed. That means there will be some typos and grammatical errors and all that, but having a beta complicates things and really slows my writing process down (not to sound like I don't love all the betas I've had in the past...I do. I really do.). I just don't want to delay the chapter postings any more than my crazy life delays them already. So...sorry for the errors you guys find. Feel free to point any out, although I may not get around to fixing all of them.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**In **

Harry was woken by shouts coming from the kitchen. His uncle was yelling at someone, although Harry couldn't hear any responses so he assumed Vernon was talking on the phone.

His heart seized. The phone. _Oh god, what time is it? _he wondered frantically, sitting up and pushing the thin blanket off of him. He grabbed his glasses from the floor, shoving them on his face as he looked at the clock. Twelve o'clock, noon. _How did I sleep so late? _Harry thought, jumping out of bed and dashing into the living room.

"My fucking nephew is _not _going going to some faggot school to learn how to _dance_!" Vernon screamed into the phone.

"NO, Vernon! Please, _no_!" Harry yelled, ripping the phone from his uncle's thick fingers and pressing it to his ear. "Hello? I'm _so_ sorry about that, really. I couldn't—"

"_It's quite alright. I assume this is Harry Potter?" _a woman asked.

"Yes, this is him," Harry said, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from groaning in pain as his uncle shoved him into the wall.

"Get off the phone, boy!" Vernon yelled.

"Uh...one sec ma'am. I'm going to have to go someplace quieter," Harry said in a rush, ducking his uncle's fist as he made a break for his room. Once the door to his room was shut Harry re-introduced himself.

"_Well," _the woman sounded a bit confused, _"I was calling in regards to your audition. Number two hundred and fourteen, correct?" s_he asked. Harry breathed a 'yes', his heard pounding in anticipation. This was it. "_Well then, congratulations, Harry. The panel has decided to grant you a full scholarship. I'm sure you'll do well at Fifth Avenue School of the Arts," s_he announced.

"Oh my god," Harry breathed into the phone, a huge grin spreading across his face. He was in... "Wow. I'm...this is....thank you, thank you _so much_," he exclaimed, his hands shaking.

"_Don't thank me, child. I'm only the secretary here. Thank the panel of judges, they seemed very pleased with you."_

"I guess. Just...wow. I'm absolutely shocked." The woman laughed a bit, a kind, but crisp, chuckle.

"_We expect you to be here for registration, your physical, and your schedule in two days; that's Monday, nine in the morning. The start of term will begin on Wednesday. Are there any questions?"_

"No, ma'am. None. I'll be there," Harry assured her. There was a thumping on the door he was leaning on: Vernon, angry and probably suffering from a hangover.

"_Make sure you are. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Potter,_" the woman said in her firm voice. Harry hung up just as Vernon shouldered the door, forcing it open and sending Harry crashing to the floor.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" Vernon yelled, his face purple with rage. Harry just rolled over so he was facing his uncle, propped up on his elbows. "So you auditioned for some fucking fag school, huh? You got in? Do you think you're _going?" _Vernon asked. Harry stayed still, offering no response until Vernon demanded it. "Well you're _not_ going! You think you're good enough for a school like that? You're worthless, Potter. You're absolutely _worthless. _You'll never be anything, so why even try, huh? And you are NOT going to that fucking school!"

"Yes I am, dammit!" Harry screamed, losing his temper. Vernon's foot lashed out, catching him in the chest before Harry could move away.

"Forget the whole thing now, boy. You'll be going to the school in this district, not a school on Fifth. You don't deserve that school, no matter how much you may think you do," Vernon snarled. Harry started to move away from the man, but Vernon placed a foot on his stomach and pressed down, _hard_. Harry gasped for breath as he froze once more, clenching his stomach muscles to ease the pressure.

"Get off," he choked. Vernon removed his foot, kneeling on the ground next to his nephew.

"If I find out you take one _step _inside that school, I will beat you until you can never dance again_...fag," h_e whispered, his alcohol-stained breath making Harry gag. The black-haired teen stayed frozen until Vernon had heaved himself up, gave Harry another kick for good measure, and then left the room. Only then did Harry curl into a ball, rubbing his chest where Vernon had kicked him the first time. _Well, I'm in. That's a start. Now all I have to do is make sure Vernon doesn't find out I'm going_, Harry told himself with a grim smile. Yeah right. It wasn't often a kid from thirteenth district went to a school like the one on Fifth Ave, so gossip would get around quickly. Eventually, his uncle would find out. _Deal with it when you need to, not before_, Harry told himself as he crawled to his bed and lay down, still clutching his chest.

...

"You're in? No way. I mean, no _fucking _way!"Ron exclaimed in astonishment. Harry smiled at his friend's face, glancing over to the right as a large man in black emerged from around the corner, then back at Ron.

"Yeah. I actually got in...crazy huh?" the black-haired boy asked, running his hands through his hair. The man in black walked passed them without so much glancing in their direction.

"God, Harry...you might do it. You might get outta here," Ron commented.

"That's the idea, idiot," Harry said with a laughed, pushing on the ground and sending himself rolling in circles around his friend. Ron was silent for a moment.

"So...your uncle's cool with it?" he asked hesitantly. Harry understood the hesitation in his voice: Ron had always been a little leery of his friend's treatment at home. Vernon's idea of raising a child was so different from what Ron's parents thought of it, the idea that Vernon would hit Harry almost seemed surreal. The black-haired teen cackled, a humorless laugh that sent a shiver down Ron's spine while Harry lifted his shirt to reveal a large bruise on his chest and stomach. Ron had to turn in circles to stare at the vicious markings on Harry's stomach, the sound of the skateboard's wheels the only noise between them. After a few seconds Harry shrugged and let his shirt fall again, slowing down on his board.

"Yeah. He's cool with it," Harry said with a grimace. Ron offered a small smile. "Just don't tell him, okay? He's threatened to do all sorts of shit to me if I go, so I don't need him finding out sooner than I can help it." Ron nodded. It wasn't often Harry would show his bruises, normally they got covered up by his clothing or women's make-up, so it had always surprised him when the black and blue marks were revealed. It was easy to pretend that Harry wasn't actually treated that way, with the black-haired teen's easy smiles and laughs. But the flinches and nervous glances served as a reminder.

"Harry, you're not saying you're actually going to _go_ to Fifth Ave when your uncle said he'd...yeah..." Ron trailed off, not wanting to say 'when your uncle said he'd beat the shit out of you'. Harry smiled again, skating down the street slowly. Ron followed, walking quickly to keep up. "_Harry!_" he demanded when his friend didn't answer his question. Harry shrugged, his green eyes on the ground looking for rocks large enough to trip his board up.

"Ron, I got in to the Fifth Ave School of the fucking Arts," he said slowly. "And I got a free ride. I can't just...give that up. It's not like if I drop out they'll be able to call another kid in my place. I can't just waste that scholarship. Besides, I don't just _want_ to go, I _have_ to. I'm not like you, Ron," Harry looked at the red-haired boy jogging beside him, "I can't stay in this district and be guaranteed a job."

"My mom would love to have you work at the bakery!" Ron protested. Harry shook his head.

"No. I'm not cut out for that. If I stay here...either these streets or Vernon himself will kill me. It's not a way I want to live. I need to get out, I need to do something with my life."

"You know what your problem is?" Ron started. "You have too much pride to live here. You've always craved more, when everyone else is just dealing with it. Face it, Harry. We live in thirteenth district. We're fucking poor! The only reason you get a meal every day is because my mom'll feed you if you go within two hundred meters of the bakery! Out here, Harry, we live off what we can get. Not dreams. Dreams don't get you _anything_ but disappointment," Ron said, his voice rising. Harry sighed, tossing a quarter at a young boy begging on the street. The Japanese youngster bowed slightly, his hands pressed together, in thanks. Harry nodded back before looking to his friend, fire in his eyes.

"Ron, at least I _do _dream. Unlike you, who's willing to let your life lead itself!" Harry snapped. Ron stopped.

"And what's so wrong with that?" he demanded. Harry skidded to a stop, putting one foot on the ground for balance.

"You'll end up wherever this life dictates! I don't want that for me!" he shouted, turning around. "I want to end up where I _want,_ and not just where I _can_! I _hate_ this place! There's _nothing_ here for me! No family, no future...I can't live like this! This isn't what I'm supposed to be!" Ron walked up to him, his blue eyes sparking.

"Yeah, well this is what life is here, and the sooner you get used to it the better."

"I won't think like that, Ron. I'm not just giving up!" Harry said.

"You will _never be anything_, Harry," Ron said slowly, anger in his voice. "You won't be anything,_ I_ won't be anything. _That's_ what's going to happen to us, okay? I'm not going to be a professional chef somewhere—"

"Well, _duh_! With the way you're going about things, of _course _you're not going to be anything!" Harry interrupted, throwing his hands in the air.

"Just get used it, Harry. We aren't anything now, and we'll never be anything. It sucks, but that's the way it is," Ron said. Harry shook his head.

"Shut up, Ron. You'll never understand where I'm coming from, because _your _parents aren't dead and your _family_ doesn't beat you up every night. I can't stay here, Ron! I just _can't!" _he yelled, turning his back and skating off. Ron stood in the street before a honk from an angry taxi driver behind him made him jump. He walked out of the way, flipping the driver off and skirting down an alley before the guy came after him. Harry was so stupid sometimes...so caught up in his dreams that he couldn't see what world he was living. He sighed. Harry was just so hard to understand.

...

Harry turned a tight corner around a building as he moved away from Ron, almost hitting a thin man who had been sitting on the sidewalk. Dismissing the string of curses that followed him, Harry skated to the largest street in thirteenth district, the one with most of the shops and people. His argument with Ron would be soon forgiven, as they always were, but for now there was a dull anger inside of him that wished Ron could just _understand. _Hell, that _anyone _would understand.

People with familiar faces waved to him with a smile, and Harry raised his hand in greeting, skating onward. Every time he pushed off the ground his chest and stomach gave a shout of pain, and finally Harry skated to stop in a fairly deserted area and lifted his shirt to check his injury. His chest was bruised the worst, but the dull ache he felt came from his stomach, where Vernon had stepped on him last night. With a sigh, Harry let his shirt fall and picked up his skateboard, walking out of the area on back onto the main street. He sat down on the curb, trying to think of something to do. He couldn't wait until Monday, tomorrow, and especially Wednesday, the first day of term.

_What's it going to be like there? _Harry asked himself. _Friends? Probably not. Rich kids. Talented kids. _But it didn't matter. He didn't need friends, and he didn't need people who cared about him. He just needed a chance, and he already had one. The black-haired teen let a small smile flicker across his face, turning his head when a flash of red hair caught his eye. Two young men walked towards him, twin smiles on their faces.

"Hey, Fred, George," Harry greeted with a larger smile. The two smirked.

"Ickle-Ronikins walked by a moment ago..." they prompted; Harry groaned.

"You two arguing again?" Fred asked, sitting on Harry's left as George took a seat to Harry's right. The younger teen shrugged, letting his head hang. There was an obvious 'yes' hanging in the air. The twins nodded, already knowing the content of the argument, as it was one their younger brother and his best friend had had often.

"He said you were a little banged up," George commented, his voice light, but his eyes the opposite. Harry gave a sad smile, and the twins faces fell into absolutely serious expressions. They had always seen Harry as a good friend—a kid so different from their brother, Ron. Knowing what Harry's uncle did to him hurt. "Are you okay?" the twin asked, putting an arm around Harry. The green-eyed boy let his head rest on George's shoulder, his face melancholy. He appreciated the small gesture of comfort, as the twins were two of very few people who gave it to him in moderation. Ginny and her mother went way overboard, Ron didn't do anything—not because he didn't care, but because situations like that were incredibly awkward for him—and most of Harry's other friends either didn't know about Vernon, or followed Ron's line of action.

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad," Harry whispered back. Fred moved in front of Harry.

"Where'd he hit you?" he asked. Harry looked down at his stomach as an answer, moving his hand to grab the hem of his shirt as he did so.

"It's fine. Really, Fred. You don't need to worry." Both twins rolled their eyes.

"'Course we need to worry," they said in unison, making Harry smile. George stood up, pulling Harry with him.

"Let's find you something to eat, huh? You're too skinny," George said suddenly, changing the topic. Harry didn't protest; he hadn't had breakfast or lunch today. The three walked into the Weasley's bakery, three smiling faces greeting them. Ginny flew around the counter and threw herself at Harry, knocking him away from the two taller boys on either side of him. Harry bit his lip as one of Ginny's hands pressed into his stomach, and he willed his arms to gently push her off him. "Let's _not _molest Harry today, alright?" George said with a laugh, although there was a glint in his eye that normally wasn't there. Ginny glared at him, but her cheeks flushed under the gaze of her parents. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry, the rounded woman grabbing a muffin from the glass cabinet and pressing it into Harry's hands.

"Thanks," Harry said modestly, taking a bit and giving his compliments. Molly beamed at the praise, and Arthur smiled proudly as well. Honestly, Harry knew he would compliment Molly's food if she gave him a hunk of dry bread, but he didn't mention it, simply glad he could please the kindly woman.

"How are you, dear?" Molly asked, her soft brown eyes smiling at him. Harry smiled back.

"I'm great," he ignored the looks Fred and George gave him, "And I got into that school on Fifth Avenue! I'm dancing there this year, on a full scholarship," Harry added with enthusiasm. The five others in the room exploded into smiles and 'congratulations', with Ginny hugging him again and the twins clapping him on the back, but not hard enough to disturb the bruising on the front of Harry's torso. Molly enveloped him in a hug as well, and Aurthur gave him a proud smile.

"When do you start term?" George asked curiously. Harry flashed him an excited smile.

"Wednesday. I go in for registration and everything tomorrow," he answered.

"I'll bet your uncle is proud," Arthur said with a small smile. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. He's glad I'll be out of the apartment and stuff in a few days," he said, once again ignoring looks that the twins gave him. Molly and Arthur had passed on their naivety and gullibility to Ginny and Ron, but Fred and George seemed to have developed a bullshit detector sometime in their nineteen years in the district.

"I'm so happy for you, Harry," Ginny gushed for the fifth time.

"Thanks guys, I appreciate it," Harry said by way of making all congratulatory comments end. Several hungry customers walked in just then, and Molly and Arthur found themselves busy. Not wanting to be in the way, Harry ducked out of the shop with a wave to Ginny and the twins. Still holding onto his skateboard, Harry walked along the street, keeping his eyes peeled for a familiar face. Five minutes later he saw Seamus Finnigan, an Irish boy whose parents had come into the country by some means Harry didn't even _want _to know, and he strolled over to him.

Seamus' profession wasn't the most honorable, but Harry couldn't bring himself to hold it against his friend any more than he could hold it against Cho. You didn't always get to choose what you wanted to do in life, and Harry knew he was one of the odd few that actually wanted to take a stand for himself. As always, Seamus' face was pale and his eyes bloodshot, his hands as shaky as ever.

"Hey Harry," the boy said with a smile, standing up to give his friend a one-armed hug. Harry returned it, feeling Seamus' bony back through the boy's thin shirt. He hated to think it, but his own back was probably just as bony.

"How are you, Seamus?" Harry asked honestly, wanting a truthful answer. The Irish boy shrugged, sitting down again. Harry didn't know if it was because he just wanted to sit, or if he did so because he was too weak to stand right now.

"I'm doing alright, no worse, no better." Harry sighed, sitting next to his friend.

"You need to stop, Seamus. You know it," he said firmly.

"Just like you know you should stop going home to that bastard of an uncle you have," Seamus answered just as firmly. The two glared at each other for a moment before breaking into grins. Their advice was anything but joking, but the two of them had been telling each other these same things for so many years it was _almost _humorous.

"So, you're doing well?" Harry asked. Seamus gave a wide smile.

"Rollin' in it, Harry. Absolutely rich!" he exclaimed. Harry was glad to hear it, being a rich drug addict was, in many ways, better than being a poor one, but he still had a problem with how Seamus acquired the money. Not in the mood for a second argument today, the black-haired boy let it go. "So...I heard you got into that tight-ass school of the arts on Fifth?" Seamus said with a smirk. Harry froze. He had only told Cho and the Weasley's about that! How had people found out so quickly? He knew Cho wouldn't tell—she promised not too, and she always kept her word, especially when Harry's safety was involved—which meant that Ron was the likely culprit. At this rate Vernon would know he was planning on going by nightfall. As if sensing his friend's apprehension, Seamus held up his unsteady hand. "Nothin' to worry about, pal. Ron told me to shut up about so it doesn't get back to your uncle. I won't tell," he swore.

"Seamus...I...I know you wouldn't," Harry said with a smile, shoving his doubts aside for later. Seamus, no matter how loyal, was addicted to just about every substance out there, and wasted people didn't think rationally. Worse was that Seamus dealt at bars that Vernon frequented, which was how Seamus had found out about Harry's guardian in the first place. A wave of frustration aimed at Ron rushed through Harry's system. His friend didn't understand that when Vernon said 'I will beat the shit out of you', he fucking meant it with every cell in his body. Harry sighed a bit, but his face brightened as he turned back to Seamus. He should at least _try _to fix this. "Yeah, I got in. But...I'm actually undecided if I should go or not. I mean...it's a nice school, but I'm not sure I want to dance like a maniac for the next year," Harry lied. Seamus rolled his eyes.

"Harry, that doesn't make any sense. You _love _dancing, you gay fag," he commented.

"I am not a gay fag!" Harry protested with a smile.

"Yeah right, fucker. You're gay enough for all the men out there," Seamus exclaimed. Harry shook his head.

"We've been over this...I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are fucking too! And I can prove it to you," Seamus said with a smirk. Harry raised a doubtful eyebrow, although his face was a little cautious. Seamus leaned in suddenly, pressing chapped lips to Harry's and working his tongue in between the boy's lips. Harry leaned back a bit out of shock, although it wasn't enough to dislodge Seamus' lips. Briefly, Harry wondered if you could contract STDs through kisses, because in that case Seamus had probably given him about five. Regardless of the fact that Seamus tasted like alcohol and weed and an assortment of a gazillion other substances, Harry couldn't help the smile that came as Seamus' tongue moved swiftly over his own in practiced movements. The Irish boy pulled away, a smirk on his lips. "You are a fag, Harry," he said, his eyes dancing. Harry glanced around.

"Seamus!" he exclaimed. "I really, _really_ didn't need to have fifty people see that!" His friend rolled his eyes.

"Nothin' to worry about, Harry. No one pays attention to people on the ground in this area, you know that," Seamus said. The black-haired boy just rolled his eyes and Seamus erupted into an Irish song, with modified lyrics to describe just how gay Harry was.

"I dated Cho last year," Harry broke in. Seamus shrugged.

"Ooooh, my apologies," he said sarcastically. "You're _bi_," he corrected. Harry just shrugged. Maybe, maybe not. He didn't care. He wasn't really in the position to waste time with a boyfriend _or _girlfriend right now. The two talked about nothing for another ten minutes until one of Seamus' friends came by, Dean Thomas, and stopped in front of the two.

"Hey, Harry, Seam," he said with a cheery smile. Seamus' eyes lit up and he stood shakily, Dean immediately grabbed him by the waist to keep him standing. The boy turned to Harry. "Hey man, you comin' to the Hot Zone tomorrow night?" he asked. Harry bit his lip in thought. The Hot Zone was a popular club with most of the high school age kids in the area, as the age limit wasn't monitored as strictly as most dance clubs. Anyone with a fake ID got in—no matter how young the person looked. The black-haired boy nodded.

"Yeah, I'll probably be there after ten though, have to get Vernon dinner first and all that," he answered with a smile. Both standing boys gave him a thumbs up.

"Great. See ya there, then," Dean said, and he dragged Seamus off with a parting wave. Harry smiled at the two of them was they walked away. Both he and Seamus knew that Dean was probably the reason Seamus was still alive right now, with the way he looked after the Irish boy. Harry personally thought that Dean felt a little more than friendship for Seamus, but he wasn't going to say anything about it. That was between those two.

Around seven that night Harry started skating home. Unless he was with a group of friends, Harry didn't like to stay in the streets too long after dark. There were too many drunks out then, too many whores, too many drug dealers, too many thugs, not to mention the gangs looking for a fight. It was far too easy to get caught in a bad situation and end up missing for the next month or two. Already Harry could name off friends of his that simply disappeared, never showing up again. Most of their faces now resided on the 'missing wall' in the nearest cop shop. Harry didn't want to be one of those faces on that wall.

Vernon wasn't home when Harry walked in, and the teen took advantage of this by making himself a simple dinner—Vernon had gone shopping—and watching a random show on television. Hopefully, if he woke early enough tomorrow, he would be able to get out of the apartment before Vernon woke up.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and also, thanks for the support I got for the last chapter. You guys are fabulous (and it's AWESOME to hear from some of you who I know through other stories!). Like I do with my other stories, I am (hopefully!) responding to all reviews/comments that either critique, ask a question, or say something insightful about this story. I cherish all the comments I get, even down to the "awesome! keep writing!", but I just don't have time to reply to all of you!

If you have questions, liked this chapter, hated it...all that jazz, leave me note! Hell, maybe it will inspire me to just suck it up and start writing efficiently!

-Wykkyd


	3. Introductions

**Disclaimer: **characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Therefor, genius, they do not belong to me.

**Summary (new): **Harry Potter's new life as a student in the School of the Arts is complicated. With gangs, drugs, and abuse in his past, and Draco Malfoy and dance in his future, the trouble starts when he's forced to figure out the present. HD HG (Harry/George...not main pairing)

**A/N: **Yay for summer. Now...Enter Draco Malfoy!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Introductions**

Harry walked into the building amidst a crowd of two hundred other kids, all pushing and shoving each other. They were filed into a large theater, and already the black-haired boy was looking around the room with raised eyebrows, comparing this school to the Thirteenth District Hell Hole. There wasn't much to compare, really. The students were instructed to sort themselves into their classes, coming to groups of fifty or so. Harry was then moved with the other sophomores to another room, much smaller than the gymnasium. A tall woman that Harry recognized from his audition stepped onto the small lecture stage at the head of the room. Silence encompassed the room.

"Good morning, sophomores," she said, her voice firm, yet welcoming. She got murmurs of 'good mornings' in return. "In order to do this as quickly as possible, I am going to call ten names in the first group. This group will proceed out that door," she pointed to a single exit door on the left side of the room, "take a left and go to classroom one eighteen. There you will be registered and sent off for your physical. From there, students who are new to this school," her eyes flicked briefly to Harry's face, "will be given a tour of the campus by either a professor or a senior at our school. The second group of ten names will follow the first group, but you will be registered in room one nineteen. The third, fourth, and fifth groups will go to rooms one twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two. Any questions?" A boy near the front raised his hand and the woman looked at him, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"If we don't need a tour, are we free to go?" His voice wasn't quite haughty, Harry thought, but it definitely held the superior edge to it that the upper-class children all had. Harry suppressed a sigh, wondering what he was subjecting himself to for the next year.

"After you have registered, gotten your schedules, and taken your physical, yes, you may go. Please remember to have your parents sign the paperwork at home—if they are not present today—and bring it to the office on Wednesday," she instructed.

Harry was in the third group of students, and walked with them silently as they moved to room one twenty, listening to snippets of conversation. He was able to gather that they all knew each other from last year, which meant he was the only new student amidst them.

"Say, what's your name? I don't believe I know you," one of the boys said, looking at Harry. The green-eyed teen looked at his feet.

"I'm Harry Potter. New here," he said quietly. Harry knew he was out of his league. All these kids were wealthy, refined, and had clean records. Harry felt incredibly incompetent standing next to them.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley; you'll like it here." Harry nodded in thanks, meeting the boy's eyes for a second before looking at his feet again.

"Hey Harry, I'm Nathan Childe," another boy spoke up. "So...musician, actor, dancer?" he wondered. Harry managed a small smile.

"Dancer," he answered, putting a touch of pride in his voice. "Nice to meet you guys, too." The girl who had been leading their party stopped at the open door of room one twenty, and the ten of them walked in. It wasn't the classroom set-up that Harry was used to at the Hell Hole. Instead of individual desks there were tables pushed against each other with padded chairs pushed neatly beneath them. Along one wall there were two couches pushed arm to arm, and at the front of the room there was a large desk. Currently, a young woman and man were behind the desk, shuffling through papers. The woman waved her hand at the couches without looking up, indicating for the students to sit. Harry ended up standing with three other kids, as the couches weren't large enough for all ten of them. The man pulled a file out of a large stack, looking up.

"This is group three, correct?" he asked. Several of the kids nodded. "Great. Let's get Miss Bullstrode and Mr. Neville up here to start, alright?" he began. A squat girl and a nervous boy stood up and went over to the desk, sitting down in chairs. Two students who had been standing up took their places on the couch, leaving Harry the odd man out. He kept his eyes fixated on his shoes, listening to the hushed conversations of the teens next to him. Occasionally someone would ask him a question and he would answer with one or two words, but for the most part he was silent. Fifteen minutes later there were five of them left, and Harry was called up with a boy named Daniel Gates. He sat down opposite the woman and gave her a shy smile. In return she handed him a manila envelope.

"In there you will find the paperwork that your parents will have to fill out. Make sure to bring it to the office Wednesday morning, signed." She handed him a small pile of papers and a pen. "These papers cover your ethics contract—no drugs, alcohol, violence, etcetera—and your health papers. There are a few more health papers in your packet, but those all need a parent's signature. Give this," she pointed to the heath sheet on the top of the pile, "to Madame Hooch before your physical. You'll need to fill it out before giving it to her though, so take a moment aside and do so. In the packet you will also find a copy of the ethics contract that you...just signed, a map of the school, and your schedule. You'd do well not to lose any of that," she advised. Harry nodded, signing the papers in the pile swiftly and taking the top one to fill out later. "Good. Any questions?" she asked. Harry thought for a moment, but honestly couldn't come up with one. He was dying to know so many things, but he couldn't put any of them into words, so he just shook his head. "Well, Mr. Potter, I hope you enjoy it here. My name is Mrs. Sinistra, the Physics professor here. Your physical will be in room one fourteen, just down the hall," she said with a smile, casually tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. As Harry stood, preparing to leave, she called out again. "Mr. Potter? Just so you know, you will be taking placement tests for the first hour on Wednesday. Nothing to worry about, though," she placated. Harry gave her a nod and walked to the door of the room. Justin waved to him from the couch, and he gave the boy a smile before leaving the room.

Following the general direction of people, while keeping his eyes on his feet as much as possible, Harry made his way to the correct room and joined a long line of students also waiting for their physicals. He never had to take a physical for school before, but then again, his old school wasn't one that followed all the rules. Thirteenth District didn't even require parents to sign most of the forms, because half the kids at the school were homeless and didn't have parents.

The physical was concerning to Harry, because he knew he wasn't in the greatest shape at the moment. He hadn't danced in quite a few months, and even the audition a few days ago had made him stiff and sore. Besides lacking muscle, the small teen knew he was underweight for his age. It wasn't always easy to get a beating-free meal around his place, which made him skip them more often than not. On top of everything, he had a collection of nice and fresh bruises from the other day that were still a deep green-ish color. Normally he would have said he had gotten in a fight, but that would do him more harm than good in this situation. He would have to come up with something else.

Taking advantage of his wait in line, Harry began looking around the hall. On the wall opposite from him there were a series of doors, paintings in between them of adult men and woman. The nearest one to him depicted an elderly man with white hair and a long beard. He wore half-moon spectacles and his light blue eyes shone from behind them. The label underneath the frame read: Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Harry assumed the other pictures were of old headmasters and headmistresses.

Someone's elbow jabbed into his stomach, and Harry hissed in pain as a bruise was aggravated.

"Oh my goodness!" the girl exclaimed, apology in her eyes. "I'm so sorry! You're okay, aren't you?" she asked. Harry smiled reassuringly, nodding at the same time.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it," Harry replied.

"Good. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she said, holding out her hand. Harry shook it; she had a nice, firm grip.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"You must be new here, I don't recognize you from last year. You wouldn't think that two hundred kids makes a small school, but once you get used to things here and everything you'll realize that it _is _pretty small. You'll be able to call everyone by name in a few months, at least _I_ was able to a few months into my first term here last year," she rambled. Harry gave her an awkward smile, and Hermioe covered her mouth with her hand, a blush spreading over her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry. I talk too much. So...are you a musician, an actor, or a—"

"Dancer," Harry finished for her, giving a true smile. "What about you?"

"I'm a dancer, too! Hopefully we'll be in some of the same classes," she said cheerfully.

Hermione looked the part of a dancer. She wasn't short, but neither was she tall, and she looked to be slender as well. Curly brown hair was pulled back from her face, a few stray stands tucked behind her ears. Her large brown eyes were shining. Harry shrugged.

"You're probably a lot better than me, I actually haven't had that much dance training." Hermione looked surprised.

"Hmm...I guess I wouldn't remember you from the audition last year...because you weren't _here..._" she mused. "Well, I'm impressed that you got in with little training. It means you have a lot of natural talent," she said matter-of-factly. Harry blushed under the compliment. "I'm sure you'll catch up quickly."

"Thanks. It's a nice thought to have," Harry said with a shrug. He really hadn't considered how behind the other sophomores he would be. At a prestigious school like this, even the freshmen dancers would all know how to dance well. A wave of hopelessness fell over him, but Hermione seemed to understand.

"You don't have to worry. A lot of the dancers have been dancing for years, but that's not to say all of them are _good_, or even that they have the potential to _become _good. It's harsh, I know, but that's just how it is. See, there are two ways to get into this school. The really wealthy kids can get in without auditioning, but they pay a higher tuition price. The auditioned kids get in at the standard fee, but then there's always the chance they won't get in," she explained.

"But that just means that all the auditioned kids are amazing dancers," Harry said dully. Hermione looked confused for a moment, until her face cleared.

"Oh...you must be a scholarship student," she said with understanding. Harry's eyes widened and a blush crossed his face before he looked down at his shoes, effectively giving the answer away. "It's not a bad thing, Harry," Hermione assured. "I was on a partial scholarship last year, actually. Besides, that answers a lot of questions I had. The kids who audition for general admission—meaning they aren't going for a scholarship—don't have to put up with such a demanding audition. The judges take the best out of the pack, but they have to admit from fifty to seventy kids in each class, so they aren't incredibly selective," Hermione explained further. Harry was starting to understand. "So you have a lot of mediocre dancers who auditioned, as well as all the rich kids who are here because of their money. Well, not to say that _all _the rich kids don't have talent, many of them do, but there are always the odd ones out, you know. On the other hand, the _scholarship _students," Hermione smiled at Harry, "are the ones who generally have the most potential. The judges take five to eight kids from _hundreds, _sometimes they take less than that. My mother's working here this year as an English teacher. She told me that there were only three full scholarships granted this year." Harry's jaw dropped.

"But...but...they said they would select six of us!" he sputtered. Another impressed look flitted over the brown-haired girl's face, Harry had to be _good _if he got a full ride on hardly any training. She shrugged in answer to his comment.

"Who knows what happened?" Hermione said with a wave of her hand. "Seriously, Harry, you're going to catch up quickly. The other full-scholarship-students have _always _been good, no matter how much dance training they have," she said. Harry smiled, a bit reassured.

"So...what kind of dance do they teach here?" he wondered. Hermione's face brightened.

"Everything! Of course, ballet is the foundation, so a lot of ballet, but we also learn modern, jazz, hip hop, character, the Latin dances, ballroom, partnering and solo...everything. It's an extensive curriculum," she said with enthusiasm. Her smile was infectious, and Harry felt himself smiling along side his new friend. He noticed that Hermione was now at the front of the line; her physical would be next. "Oh, here, you should probably fill out your form before going in there," Hermione said, holding a pen out. Harry pulled the paper out from under his arm and accepted the pen. "Here, you can give that back to me when I'm through, or on Wednesday. I'm sure I'll see you then," she said as a student came out of the room and held the door for her. "Nice to meet you, Harry!" she called. The black-haired boy smiled, glad to have some of his questions answered by the talkative girl.

Madame Hooch looked up with a small sigh as the next student walked in. The clock on the wall read eleven thirty, meaning Madame Pomfrey would be coming to help her in half an hour. The boy who had walked into the room and shut the door behind him was small and a bit slumped, his eyes on the floor in front of him and a manila envelope clutched in one hand with a single sheet of paper in his other hand. With sharp eyes, Madame Hooch sized him up, putting the boy around five foot four, and weighing approximately ninety pounds. The possibility of an eating disorder flickered through her mind as she looked at his bony arms.

"Hello Mr..."

"Harry Potter, Ma'am," the boy said in a quiet voice. As Hooch didn't recognize him from last year, she figured he must be a freshman.

"Hello Mr. Potter," she said once more, holding out her hand. "If you would please give me your health sheet there? Thank you. While I look over this, you can step onto that scale and read me your weight, please," she said, her eyes scanning the page. No allergies, not on any form of medication, never been in counseling for any reason, he'd had several broken ribs last year, as well as a broken wrist and left arm but none bothered him anymore, he didn't get dizzy spells when he exercised, he didn't have heart problems, he didn't...good, good, good.

"Um, eighty nine pounds, Ma'am," Harry called out softly, cringing at his weight. No nurse would like that; as predicted, the woman frowned and made a mark on another sheet of paper before coming over to him. She raised her hands to move the measuring devices until she had Harry's exact height: five feet and five inches. Madame Hooch wrote that down on Harry's paper, pulling out his file from underneath it.

"How old are you, Mr. Potter?" she asked as she leafed through papers in his file. Ah...sophomore, on a full dance scholarship. _Hmmm..._

"Fifteen," he answered.

"Sophomore, then?" she checked. He nodded. "And a dancer." The last wasn't a question. Harry nodded once more, and Madame Hooch sighed. "Harry, I'm sure you know that your weight is not normal for a fifteen-year-old boy. I'm going to be frank," she watched Harry tense up and look to the floor, "if you aim to be a dancer, you need to take care of your body. Unlike a violinist or flautist, your body is your instrument, meaning that you don't play if your body can't hold up to the strain. I'm not worried about muscle mass right now, you will gain that during class, but if you expect your body to run on nothing, you are severely wrong," she snapped. Harry flinched. "I trust you will start eating more, before I have to put you in counseling?" Madame Hooch asked, her voice a bit kinder. Suddenly Harry's eye snapped up to her face, a glare in them.

"I do _not _have an eating disorder," he said firmly, his lips pressed into to a thin line.

"Then would you care to explain your situation in another way?" Madame Hooch asked calmly. Harry faltered, it wasn't like he could just say he didn't eat all the time because he was beaten up if he ate something he wasn't supposed to. He sighed, shaking his head. He could act like he had an eating disorder, and just put up with counseling if she chose to put him there. Madame Hooch nodded triumphantly, and Harry had the urge to protest again. But at least she wasn't suspicious enough to have him take off his shirt. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I'm going to give you a month to gain ten pounds. It's harder than it seems, I know, but if you succeed I won't put you in counseling. If you don't manage to gain ten pounds for me, I'm afraid I'll have to give Mr. Black a call."

"Mr. Black?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Sirius Black," Madame Hooch corrected with a smile. "He's our counselor that deals with children who have eating disorders," Harry sneered, "family problems," he froze, "or anything else. Nice man. You'll like him." _She says that as if I'm definitely going to meet him in a month, _Harry thought with a bitter edge. He crossed his arms.

"Is that all?" he bit out, his tone cold. Madame Hooch gave him a small smile and nodded her head.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. Good luck this next month," she said.

"Whatever," Harry replied, leaving the room and slamming the door. He rushed down the hall, holding his packet of paperwork to his chest as he tried to calm himself down. _How dare she tell me I have a fucking eating disorder, tell me to gain _ten fucking pounds _and then tell me she's shipping me off to a 'nice man' for counseling! Bitch! _Harry thought angrily. Suddenly Harry crashed into someone's chest, reeling back a moment later and falling to the floor. The impact caused his chest to flare in pain for a second, but he recovered quickly and pushed himself into a clumsy sitting position. A tall blonde boy was standing in front of him, one hand stretched toward him. Harry grabbed it an allowed himself to be dragged to his feet, blushing in embarrassment. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," he said meekly. The blonde laughed, bending down to pick up Harry's packet and handing it back to the small teen.

"Obviously. Seems like your physical didn't go so well," he commented, crossing his arms. Harry looked into the boy's silver eyes and then ripped his gaze away, blushing again.

"Uh...not really," Harry ground out, his face twisted into an angry mask. The boy in front of him nodded.

"What did Hooch subject you to?" he asked. Harry looked up again, anger in his eyes.

"None of your business," he snapped, spinning on his heel. _Screw the fucking tour, I'm going home. _There was a hand on his arm, though, preventing him from leaving. Harry looked back at the boy, glaring viciously.

"Sorry. Relax, kid. You're Harry Potter, right?" the blonde asked. Harry nodded slowly, his glare still fiery. "Great, I'm Draco Malfoy, senior here."

"And why do I give a damn?" Harry snarled. _Just let me go, _he begged silently.

"Because I'm supposed to give you a tour of this place. And some advice: don't go snapping at people around here unless they deserve it. This is a small school, you don't want more rumors spread around than you can help," Draco said. Harry wrenched his arm out of the older teen's grip, but he didn't leave. Draco smirked. "Well then, do you want a tour or not?" Harry rolled his eyes, knowing it was immature, but not caring.

"Fine. That would be...Fine," Harry answered.

"Leave your paperwork in that room," Draco pointed to the nearest door, "and then I'll start dragging you around," he said. Harry turned and walked through the open door, searching for a place to put the envelope where he wouldn't forget about it later. Draco let his eyes drift from Harry's messy hair to his back and down to his bum, but the boy's actual figure was obscured by the baggy clothing he wore. It was apparent that Harry was underweight, and that alone explained the bad mood after his physical. Madame Hooch was known for her harshness with the students who had eating problems, and had no doubt accused Harry of all sorts of things.

The first thing Draco had noticed about Harry was that his vibrant eyes were absolutely_ full _of emotions, from anger to nervousness to happiness, all in one glance. The black-haired boy was...pretty. No, gorgeous, but it was a subtle type of gorgeous; you had to look closely at first, but once you saw it there was no other way to view the boy. There was a slightly rugged quality to him, but it was nicely offset by the teen's delicate features, the bony harshness of a possible eating disorder detracting from Harry's face only slightly. Harry was short, but it fit with his body-type at the moment. Plus, Harry's petiteness only exaggerated the grace with which he moved: his hips swaying naturally, his legs moving fluidly. Draco could tell the black-haired boy was a dancer as soon as he saw Harry rushing down the hall. Fleeting and hormonal thoughts of how responsive Harry would be in bed ran through Draco's head as Harry emerged from the room and gave him a soft smile. Draco cocked his head in the direction of the end of the hall and the two started off.

"Well...this is the main hall. Behind us, just after you walk in the doors is the office—you probably saw it on your way in. You have the nurses' office on this floor, the teachers' lounge, the cafeteria and main assembly room—the room you were in before you were sent off in class groups—the kitchens, a few conference/lecture rooms, and the theatre. All the regular classrooms are on the second and third floors," Draco said as they moved up the flight of stairs to the second floor. "You're a dancer, so you'll—"

"How do you know I'm a dancer?" Harry challenged. Draco let a smirk—one that was a bit more sultry than necessary—onto his face.

"You move like one," he said, his voice a touch deeper than normal and his silver eyes running over Harry's body again. The black-haired boy blushed under Draco's gaze, dropping his head a bit. "Anyway," Draco said, his tone less insinuating, "you're a dancer, so you'll be spending most of your time on the second floor, this floor, where the dance studios are. There are three of them, and you'll normally have your dance classes in between academic classes. The academic classes tend to change schedule a lot, because the 'talent classes' are first priority; your paper schedule you got today will most likely vary quite a bit over the year," Draco explained. "Those doors down the hall," Draco pointed to two doors opposite each other, "are the locker rooms. You can shower and change and all that in there." Harry nodded and the two continued down the hall, going past the locker rooms with Draco pointing out various classrooms and letting Harry take a look inside each studio. Harry noticed lockers lining the walls where there were no classrooms and asked about them. "Oh, those are the dancers' lockers. There's about seventy-five on this floor, and the rest are on the third floor; about one hundred and fifty of them. Musicians and actors get the upstairs lockers; it keeps things easier."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Do you think you'll audition for the performance this year?" Draco asked as he steered Harry around towards the flight of stairs at the end of the hall, walking up to the third story. The petite boy looked at him.

"What performance?" he asked, he didn't remember anything about a performance...

"The annual auditioned dance performance they have here, towards the end of the school year. It's always an amazing show," the blonde commented. Harry shrugged.

"I'm not sure; I haven't had much dance training," he said, looking at the floor once more. Pale fingers reached underneath his chin and brought his head up to meet silver eyes. Harry's heart pulsed loudly in his ears.

"I'm sure you're great," Draco said. Harry stayed frozen until the hand lifted itself away from his face, and a blush spread over his cheeks. He dropped his gaze again, horribly uncomfortable with the confident and flirty senior.

"Really, I'm not," he assured. Draco laughed, a musical sound that had Harry's heart leaping and jumping all over the place for the second time that day.

"Promise me you'll look into the performance, though? If you catch up quickly, you'd be a great asset to the show," Draco said. Harry nodded.

"Sure, I'll think about it, then. How many kids are normally in it?" he asked.

"Twenty to twenty-five dancers are usually selected. The best in the school."

"When are auditions?"

"Two months before the performance itself, which is in April sometime. You have plenty of time to work," Draco said, looking over to the boy walking next to him, whose gaze was _still _on the floor. "You should look up more." Harry jerked his head up, his eyes flicking over to Draco's face and then away again.

"Uh..."

"You're going to run into even _more _people if you look at your feet all the time," Draco joked. Harry blushed on cue. "Besides, dancers need to be confident," the blonde continued. Harry's blush deepened and he looked back to his feet, not caring what Draco thought about it. "Anyway, this is the third floor, dedicated to musicians. The rooms on the left are sound-proof practice rooms, which the actors use too, and the rooms on the right are classrooms. There's a large band and choir room at the other end of the hall; that's why this hall is so much shorter than the others," Draco explained.

"What about the actors?" Harry asked, wondering where they had their 'talent classes'.

"They share the practice rooms with us," Harry assumed Draco was a musician or a singer from that phrase, "and a few of the normal classrooms on the second floor are dedicated to them, although they move around a lot. A lot of the time they're in the theater, too," he explained, and Harry nodded.

"So...are you a musician or a singer?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and timid.

"Violinist," Draco replied, his tone confident and altogether the opposite of Harry's.

"How long have you played?"

"About twelve years, I started when I was six," Draco answered. "What about you? How long have you danced?"

"Oh...um, not long, really. I had my first class about two years ago, but I only danced for a year," Harry replied, feeling horribly out of his league all over again. Draco eyebrows rose, but the green-eyed boy didn't see the look. Draco fell into silence, letting Harry wander around the hall as he thought about what Harry had told him. Harry was either a prodigy dancer or his family paid out their ears to get him in without an audition. From the boy's clothes, his family didn't have the money to pay for admittance without audition, or even the money to send Harry here at all. Which meant Harry was probably a scholarship student, either full or partial; there was no way of knowing. _So Mr. Potter is stunning _and _talented, just my type, _Draco thought with a smirk, his eyes glued to Harry's ass until the younger teen turned around and walked back to him. "This is a large school, I'm impressed," Harry said, his eyes still looking around them.

"Yeah, it's nice. You're going to do well here," Draco said. Harry shrugged, not quite sure of how well he would do.

"Oh! _Draco_!" a girl screamed from the staircase; both boys spun around. A tall girl with streaming blonde hair was running toward them and crashed into Draco with her arms around his neck. The interlocked teens stumbled backward, Draco's grace the only thing that kept them from toppling over.

"Pansy, what the hell?!" he asked, grabbing the girl by her shoulders and giving himself a bit of space.

"I haven't seen you in _forever_," she gushed. Draco looked at her incredulously.

"'Forever' being about...yesterday?" he drawled. Pansy had the wits to step back a bit and blush.

"So how was—"

"Pansy, you're being rude. I'd like you to meet Harry Potter," Draco interrupted, spinning the girl around to face Harry, who backed up a bit and dropped his gaze away from the two.

"Sorry, hun," Pansy said, her voice sweet in a forced way that made it not sweet at all. "But aren't you adorable!" she exclaimed, her voice rising several octaves. Draco rolled his eyes.

"She's a—" the blonde boy began, but Pansy quickly interrupted.

"I'm his girlfriend," she stated matter-of-factly, and more than a bit possessively. Harry gave her a weak smile and a nod.

"I was _going_ to say," Draco glared at Pansy, "Ttat's she's a singer. Pans, Harry here is a dancer, he's new here." The girl flipped her long hair over her shoulder, looking Harry up and down once, picking up on the name brand-less clothing. The small teen bit his lip and looked away.

"Well, I knew you were new, because I don't _know _you, but that's nice that you're a dancer." It was apparent she didn't think much of Harry. "I'm looking forward to seeing you dance," she commented, her voice laced with a very unfriendly vibe. Harry just gave a small nod, not saying anything. "You must have a lot of experience," she continued, "how long have you danced?"

"Not long, actually," he whispered. She laughed, a mocking choke.

"Oh. Well, then, you'll have to work hard just to catch up to the kids here. There are so many amazing dancers; I hope you don't get intimidated and leave," she said. Harry slumped, his eyes fixed firmly on the grey tiles beneath his feet.

"Yeah...um...I really should get going, actually. Thanks for showing me around, Draco," Harry said quickly, glancing once at the tall boy next to Pansy before moving around the pair and heading for the stairs. _Bitch, _he thought, although she knew some of what she said had been true. He would have to work hard just to catch up to the dancers here. _But she didn't have to be so mean about it, _he said mentally, walking down the stairs quickly.

Draco watched Harry turn his back and start walking down the stairs before turning to Pansy, a vicious glare on his face that wiped the haughty look from hers.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he snapped, making her step back.

"Draco?" she asked innocently.

"You _bitch_! How the hell do you know how good he is? For all we know he's just really, really modest," he exclaimed angrily. She shrugged.

"Draco, he's not like us. Kids like him belong in the public schools," she retorted. Draco's eyes flashed.

"Does that _even _matter, Pansy?" he spat, pushing past her and jogging down the hall after Harry.

"I'm your _girlfriend!" _Pansy screamed, "you can't treat me like that!" Draco ignored her, already halfway down the stairs and jumping the last five.

Draco caught up to Harry as the black-haired boy was heading down the stairs to the first floor. He grabbed the boy's arm, trying to catch his attention. Harry reeled away from the older boy in surprise, a violent flinch running through him as he turned on the stair, tripping backwards and starting to fall. Draco jumped down another stair and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, preventing the small teen from tumbling backwards down the staircase.

"Careful there," he advised calmly, even though he was a bit shaken from the sudden adrenaline rush. Harry was blushing furiously, but his thin frame was trembling slightly as Draco waited for him to regain his balance. A moment later the green-eyed boy slipped out of Draco's arm.

"Thanks," he said softly, although his voice was sharp and cold. He turned away from Draco and started down the stairs once more.

"Wait," Draco said, moving after him. Harry ignored him, making his way to the room that had his paperwork in it. "_Harry_!" he called, and finally Harry spun around with a glare on his face.

"What the hell do you want _now_?" Harry snapped, his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry about Pansy," Draco said truthfully. "She's...a little prejudiced against new kids," he explained. Harry shook his head as he rolled his eyes.

"You mean prejudiced against new kids who aren't wearing Armani shirts," the boy said harshly. Draco would have laughed, but this wasn't the time for that. He shook his head.

"It's not like that," he said calmly.

"Yes, it is and you _know_ it," Harry quipped. Draco took a step closer to the sophomore.

"Fine, you're partly right. But that doesn't mean that _everyone—_"

"I don't care what it means. I need to get home," Harry said, turning away and walking into the classroom, lifting his packet from a table surface.

"I'll give you a ride," Draco offered. Harry shook his head, although he gave a little smile as well.

"It's fine, I'll just grab a bus."

"That's dangerous," the blonde stated. The green-eyed boy shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll be fine, promise," he assured.

"Okay, just be careful. Do you accept my apology?" he asked before Harry left the room. The dancer paused, turning around and looking right at Draco.

"You didn't do anything, it's not you who needs to apologize," he said quietly, but firmly, as he left. Draco went to the door and watched Harry walk down the hall and out the doors. Pansy caught up to him just as Harry turned left and walked out of Draco's vision, towards the bus stop.

"Draco," she whined, latching on to him. "What was that all about?" Draco looked down at her, a sneer on his face as he shook her off.

"Leave Potter the fuck alone. You don't know him," he demanded. She crossed her arms with a pout.

"_You _don't know him either," she pointed out.

"But I don't go around being a bitch to him," Draco snapped. "I'll see you later okay? I'm not doing any more tours today." Draco gave her a look that said 'no, you can't come' as he walked to the office to get his coat. Pansy continued to pout, miffed that her own boyfriend would brush her off like that. Of course, that was how Draco always was...it was like he didn't care about her at all. _Why would he not like me?! _she asked herself rhetorically. _I'm Pansy Parkingson!_

* * *

It is SO NICE outside where I am right now. I feel bad sitting on the couch for more than two minutes! I can't even go running because it's too freaking hot...so I'm going swimming instead! This is awesome! (I'm on a totally summer-high right now, can't you tell?)

Anyway, enter Draco in this chapter! Hope you all liked him (you could tell me in a review, hint hint). Another thing, normally I provide a more in-depth summary either on my profile page or in the story itself, so, if anyone is interested in more in-depth summary, just let me know and I'll post one!

Love to all of you! I'm going out to play now.

-Wykkyd


	4. 89

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his fellow friends do not belong to me, because, frankly, I am not J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **Um...lots of language in this chapter. You have been warned. On a happy note...WOW! Thank you SO MUCH to all the fabulous people who reviewed and commented and suggested...so incredible of you guys. I've been re-working the plot of this story (none of the past three chapters will change at all though) so now this story's going in a totally different direction than I thought it would! It's exciting. Along with the re-working, though, I'm realizing that this story is going to be pretty long.

I know there was something else I was supposed to say, but I can't remember, so read on!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**89**

_Jesus fucking Christ, _Harry swore viciously as he slammed himself into the bus seat, his arms wrapped firmly around his ribcage to alleviate the pain coming from his stomach. If the Thirteenth District Public High School was hell, then the Fifth Avenue School of the Arts was going to be something like purgatory. Not quite as bad as hell...but._..What the fuck did I just do? _Harry's mind moaned. He was stuck in a school for nine months with a whole bunch of talented and stuck-up rich kids, with only two other scholarship kids like him. But of course, it wasn't like he particularly minded that much. The school on Fifth was eons better than his old school, and it would be nice not to have to have your backpack searched before classes and worry about pissing someone off who would rather smash their fist into your face than explain what was wrong. Besides, he'd get to dance again.

Harry sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and fingering the hem of his worn shirt. Most of his clothes had been Dudley's old ones until a few years ago, when Vernon decided that Harry couldn't wear Dudley's old clothes because...well, because Dudley was gone now. So Harry had been allowed to get a few outfits that actually fit him in eight grade. Luckily, he hadn't grown that much and the clothes allowed for what little he had grown in the last two years, so they still fit him. Still, it wasn't like they were in good condition. Briefly Harry wondered if he should buy an outfit or two for school, then threw that idea out. He wasn't going to dress up for these kids; he didn't have anything to prove to them. _Except that I can...or can't dance..._Harry thought dully.

Harry got off the bus at the stop nearest his apartment complex, and then walked the seven blocks home. He heard his uncle watching TV at an ear-damaging volume and was able to sneak into the apartment under the cover of explosions and screams coming from Vernon's room. Paranoid that his uncle would search his room for any evidence of the School of the Arts, Harry lifted up his mattress, pulled his knife from his pocket and cut a slit in the thin fabric containing the springs. He then slid the envelope of paper into the mattress before letting it fall back on the ground. The movement had caused the two rogue springs that always prevented a good sleep to pop through the covering of the mattress, and Harry absentmindedly shoved them back inside it as he lay down.

Suddenly the television turned off, and the silence that swept through the tiny apartment was instant and thorough. Harry sat bolt upright, ignoring any protests from his bruised and aching front, and walked to his door. He knelt down so he could look through the hole that the absence of a doorknob left. His uncle was rummaging around in the refrigerator from what Harry could see. The man found something—s_urprise, surprise—_and then went back to his room and turned the television back on. Noise erupted once more and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The black-haired boy turned away from the door and went over to his pile of clothes. He rifled around in the pile for a moment before finding the shirt he had been looking for. Yanking it out and making sure it was clean enough, Harry changed, throwing his plain grey shirt into the pile. The shirt he was wearing now was several sized too small for him, meant for someone around ten or eleven, but it was a vibrant red with a design of a black oriental dragon. It was easily Harry's favorite shirt, and the one he normally wore clubbing, as it looked good with a pair of slightly baggy blue jeans. He had gotten the shit from someone's house that he and Ron had broken into two years, and managed to get out of clean, unlike the time after that.

Harry squeezed a dimes worth of gel into his hand and ran it through his hair, effectively giving him a more rugged look that was the exact opposite of his delicate features. He wasn't planning on showing up at the Hot Zone until after ten, but there was no way he was coming home before going to the club so he made sure he was ready before he left. Harry left his skateboard in his room—there was no place to keep it at the Zone—and walked out of the apartment while shrugging into a light jacket. There was a slight chill to the air, a nippy reminder that winter was on it's way. Harry frowned at the thought: he hated winter. Two years ago he hadn't minded it so much, as he had a coat that was able to keep him warm, and shoes that were more than holey canvas chucks. He didn't look forward to the walk to the bus every morning in his summer windbreaker.

Harry walked the familiar streets to the Weasley's shop, hoping that Molly would be able to give him something to eat. As he walked, he kept both eyes on the lookout for weapons concealed in people's pockets or hands, anyone staring intently at him, shadows moving behind him...normal things. When he had been younger he had problems walking alone through the streets, thus his involvement with Dean's gang, but now it seemed people figured he wasn't worth it anymore, especially if he was very careful. It was nice, Harry decided, to not have to fear being raped during the daylight. _Yeah, I just have to watch my back at night, _he thought with a truly amused smile, turning onto the main street in the district and winding through the buskers and street people to the Weasley's.

The only person in the shop today was Molly herself, although she said that Ginny had been popping in every hour or so. Harry was given several slices of bread with a lavish spread of butter on them, and he sat himself down in one of the chairs and listened to Molly talk about her newest type of cookie, or the gossip she learned from the customers who drifted in. The green-eyed boy's stomach was instantly eased by the bread, although Harry had to eat it slowly to make sure his stomach wasn't upset after eating it: his body never reacted well to eating on an empty stomach. After half an hour of enjoying his bread, listening to Molly's kind chatter, and letting the warmth of the shop sooth him, Harry stood, wiped the crumbs from his jacket and gave Molly a wave goodbye. The rounded woman gave him a cheery smile, insisting that he was too thin and that he should come back the next day. As Harry exited the bakery an arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. The small teen gave a yelp of surprise, leaning away from the body he was pressed against until a familiar peal of laughter rang in his ears.

"George, get the fuck off me," he said with a laugh. The redhead loosened his hold, but his arm stayed around Harry's shoulders.

"How was—"

"—Registration?" Fred finished, popping up from behind the two and forcing them apart, walking in between them. Harry shrugged.

"There were bad things about it and good things about it," he answered vaguely. The twins glanced at each other.

"Start with the good," George said, "we've got nothing else to listen to."

"Okay then...The good: it's an amazing school. Three large dance studios, tons of classrooms, practice rooms, a theater and an auditorium. _Huge _place; three stories," Harry started. "I met a few kids and most of them seem nice. A few of the guys were just kids in my registration group, and another was a girl I waited in line with—I think she was a sophomore like me—and she's a dancer too. Really smart, she figured out that I was a scholarship student pretty quick."

"Did she give you a hard time?" Fred asked, an almost protective edge to his voice. Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"_No. _She was on partial scholarship last year anyway."

"Well, it's good that not _everyone _there is a snobby rich bitch," Fred commented. Harry nodded, agreeing with him.

"And yeah...that's pretty much the good," the black-haired boy said slowly.

"So, on to the bad then?" George pressed. Harry sighed.

"Unlike Hermione—that girl I met—there are definitely a few kids that aren't going to like that I'm a scholarship student. This senior named Draco gave me a tour of the building, and his _girlfriend_," Harry spat the word with malice, "didn't exactly take a liking to me. I'm...I'm a beginner compared to those dancers there," Harry sighed, "I...I've hardly had any dance training, and most of those kids have been dancing since they were four years old! I have _so _much to catch up on, and I'm not dressed that well, and I'm small and scrawny and _weak _and there's no way I'm ever going to be able to be good at dancing," Harry said, dropping his head. The twins stopped at his side, each taking one of his arms.

"Wrong, Harry. You'll be great. Don't let those assholes get to you, you're worth a million of them," George said firmly. Harry shook his head.

"No guys, you weren't there. Pansy—that's Draco's girlfriend—just laid into me about being a beginner without training, and I just have this feeling I'm going to fail at all of this!"

"Harry! This is your only fucking _chance_!" Fred exclaimed, shaking the green-eyed boy's arm. "You can't believe what they tell you; you have to at least _try!_"

"I—"

"He's right Harry," George added. "You can't do anything with that attitude. You got a full scholarship to that school, that means they want you there. You have just as much right—if not more—to be at that school than any of those kids who give you a hard time. Remember that," he said firmly. Harry nodded, although it didn't seem as if he was completely convinced, and silence ensued between the three of them. The next person to speak was Harry.

"Eighty-nine pounds, guys." Both redheads looked at the boy in between them, confused.

"The hell?" Fred asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"How much do you guys weigh?" he asked. George's eyes narrowed suddenly, and Fred spoke up.

"Around a hundred and thirty, I think. Maybe thirty-five," He answered. Harry sighed, running a hand through his gelled hair.

"Is that a normal weight?" he continued.

"It's a little under for our age and height, but nothing major. Why?" George cut in, his eyes still narrowed.

"I'm supposed to gain ten pounds in the next month," Harry said in a melancholy voice.

"Please, please, _please, _don't tell me that you weight eighty-nine pounds," George begged, finally understanding what Harry was saying. The one spoken to shrugged with a nod.

"Sorry, George," he answered.

"Harry! What the fuck is _wrong _with you?!" George yelled, blue eyes blazing. Harry shrank away from the raised voice, his gaze on his feet. "Are telling me that you aren't eating because of your uncle? Because that's—"

"—Bullshit," Fred broke in, his voice just as vehement as his brother's. Harry just shook his head, not answering, and silence followed. Suddenly George turned to face Harry and grabbed him, pulling the green-eyed boy into a hug. A strangled sob emitted from Harry's throat, the teen's head buried in George's chest.

"It's so fucked up...I just...I don't think I can to do this anymore!" Harry said, his voice suddenly raw and choked.

"Yeah, that's obvious," Fred deadpanned, his eyes concerned. The Weasleys weren't a wealthy family, not by a long shot, but they lived a good life compared to Harry. There was never the concern that they wouldn't eat that night, or that they would freeze during the winter because of inadequate clothing. Their father wouldn't dare lay a hand on them. But unlike anyone the Weasleys knew, Harry had the drive to get out of his situation. Harry maintained a steady smile and a ready laugh, desperate for the happiness most found from their friends or families. It was unfair, really, that someone like Harry was in that kind of situation.

"You'll be okay, Harry. Things'll work out for you before you know it," George said, with a glare at his brother, a silent reprimand for Fred's previous comment. Harry leaned into George for another moment before pulling away. The twins were mildly surprised to see a large smile on the boy's tear-stained face. Harry just shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll deal with it later," he said, wiping a hand under his eyes with a blush. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

"Whatever, Harry," Fred said, with an amused roll of his eyes. "You are so weird. Like, one second you're depressed, and the next your all 'life sucks, but whatever!'. I don't get it." Harry laughed.

"Resilience, gentlemen, keeps me alive," he said with a wink. George shook his head, amazed at how lightly Harry took things at times.

"Whatever floats your boat, Harry. Anyway..." he said, deciding all three of them could use a subject change, "Are you coming to the Zone tonight?" George asked with a gleam in his eye.

"_Hell_ yes. It's salsa night!" Harry exclaimed. The twins nodded, expecting such an answer. Mondays at the Hot Zone were typically when most of the Latin kids showed up, which meant most people ended up dancing a strange modification of salsa with typical street styles mixed in. Harry, with his quick and graceful body, was perfectly suited for the style. Of course, there were few dance styles that George and Fred had come across that Harry _wasn't _made for.

...

The air around him was stifling, smelling of sweat, drugs, alcohol, and sex. Still, Harry was dancing with a smile on his face, his hips swaying freely. The club was crowded tonight, the kids and adults grouped together according to gangs or race...in typical fashion. Harry was one of the only people who occasionally left the group of white kids, dancing with other kids without considerable worry.

It was a Monday night, meaning that most of the teens there were Latin kids, and their style dominated the club. Harry's friends watched as the black-haired boy stepped into a circle, his feet moving in rhythms and patterns both street style and a variation of traditional salsa. Even the Latin kids would admit he was good: the girls taking turns to dance with the 'white boy'. It was in this fashion Harry had picked up most of his dance skills. Harry's lithe body was easily able to remember steps and moves, but his quick mind and playfulness let him improvise just as well. There were few regulars at the club who weren't aware of him, and almost as few who hadn't danced with him at least once. His anonymous popularity wasn't something Harry had knowingly encouraged, and in some ways it wasn't safe, but it had allowed him to learn to dance and that wasn't something he could complain about.

George grabbed two beers from the counter, leaning over and grabbing the bartender with his free hand, pressing their lips together in a slow kiss as payment. With a wink, he released her and spun around, pushing his way through the crowd to the back, where Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean, Cho, and several others were hanging out. Fred grabbed his drink from his twin's hand with a nod of thanks, and George made his way over to Harry who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest as he talked to Cho. The black-haired boy looked to the redhead with a smile, his quick hand snatching George's drink and taking a swig before handing it back.

"You're too young to be drinking," George said out of obligation, although his eyes weren't serious. Harry laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Sure, George. Too young," he echoed, crossing his arms once more.

"Really, Harry's more mature than _you _are. It's _you _who shouldn't be drinking," Cho cut in with a grin. George held up his hands.

"Joking, anyone? Hello?" he asked. Harry grabbed the redhead's beer again and slammed it on the table Cho was sitting near.

"Watch that," he told her before grabbing George by the hips. "Let's dance," Harry suggested, dragging the twin towards the crowd of gyrating teens and adults. Their friends let loose several whistles, and Harry threw a wink at them over George's shoulder. Seamus winked back, an 'I told you so' on his face. Harry shook his head, dismissing the silent comment, and looked back to the boy in front of him.

"Harry—" George started.

"It's just dancing, no one's going to kill us," Harry said, bringing his arms up around the older boy's shoulders.

"Yeah, not _now_," George commented dryly. Harry flicked his hair out of his eyes.

"No one's paying attention," he added. George let his hands rest on Harry's hips, pulling the black-haired boy a bit closer.

"Only because you look like a girl," the redhead teased, talking loudly into Harry's ear so he was heard over the music. Harry put on a mock-offended face, although his hips twitched in a circular pattern, forcing George's hips to follow.

"I'm going to ignore that for now. Just dance," Harry said with another roll of his eyes. George smirked, satisfied that he won their playful argument, and wrapped an arm around Harry's lower back, pressing them flush against each other. The black-haired teen let out a surprised squeak, but George didn't relinquish his hold. He caught Fred's interested gaze and shrugged a bit, smiling coyly. His twin pursed his lips, and George shook his head almost imperceptibly; _We'll talk about it later, _he assured with a glance. Fred nodded, turning back to Dean and Seamus, who were in the middle of a game of some sort.

Suddenly there was a yell heard over the music, followed seconds later by a sharp crack. There wasn't a single person in the club who didn't recognize the sound. There were more yells: bystanders protesting the fight, but drawing weapons in self defense. George pulled Harry low to the ground and ran with him back to the corner where the rest of their friends were. Dean and Seamus had both palmed handguns but it was obvious they were too drunk to use them without killing someone innocent. Fred jumped up and knocked Seamus to the ground, pulling Ginny with them.

"Get _down, _you guys," he yelled. George shoved Harry to the ground, crawling over to Seamus and grabbing the gun. Harry's hand grabbed his wrist.

"_Harry, _stay by the wall," George commanded. Harry looked at the gun in the redhead's right hand.

"Leave it alone," Harry said, but George shook his head.

"Come on, Harry, you know I can't. Dean...his gang...he's too fucked right now to defend himself. I can't let him just...get shot if something happens," George reasoned. Harry looked at Dean, who was lying on the floor, grinning ear to ear. He released his hold on George's wrist and crawled back to the wall, glaring. George scooted over by Fred, who had taken Dean's gun and was kneeling next to Ron. The crowd had thinned by now; everyone with a straight shot to the doors had bolted. The shooting seemed to be between a few of the black kids and a couple of Asians, toss in the bouncers who were trying to get everything straightened out. Harry hated to think it, but he was glad it was them and not the Army Dean was affiliated with. Now all they had to do was wait it out. One of the black boys fell to ground, clutching his knee as blood spurted from the bullet wound and Harry felt Cho grab his arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

"Harry...I saw Cedric," she hissed.

"What?"

"Cedric! He's over there," she pointed unobtrusively to the opposite side of the club, "I think he's hurt."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, grabbing her hand to both comfort her and make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid...like run over there to help her boyfriend.

"There's too many people around him...watching. A bartender has a...bucket of ice...oh _fuck, _Harry," Cho sobbed. "What _happened_ to him?" Harry felt her try to get up and grabbed her shoulder.

"_No_. Cho, you can't go over there. You'll get shot just for _moving_," he snapped at her.

"Let _go_, Harry!" she screamed, working her way out of his grasp. One of the Asian kids heard and looked over towards them, before there was another gunshot and he fell. Cho screamed again, wrenching away from Harry and running along the wall. The black-haired teen jumped up as well, following despite the hissed warning from his friends.

"Cho! What the fuck are you doing?" he yelled, glancing towards the boys in the center of the club; the bouncers had managed to grab them and wrestle their weapons away. There was no more shooting, but Harry knew plenty of people were hurt. He could see people with balled fists and blazing eyes being torn away from people by their friends, and yells and screams still pierced the air. Cho was forcing her way through the crowd, Harry following after her. With his agile and small body, Harry managed to catch up with her, grabbing her slender wrist and halting her movement. He yanked her backwards. "Cho, stay out of this. We're _both _going to get hurt if you try and go over there," he said loudly.

"Harry, he's my _boyfriend_!" Cho said, tears welling up in her panicked eyes. He glared at her.

"It's your _life_, Cho. Don't put him before you," he begged. It was a harsh rule, but one that everyone lived by in their district. Cho stopped struggling against him. "Let's just get out of here," Harry said. The Asian girl looked back in Cedric's direction, and Harry tugged on her arm until she moved in his direction. The two worked their way back through the crowd of angry people, narrowly avoiding being punched in the face several times. At one point Harry felt a sharp sting on his shoulder, and later someone's elbow dug into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and disturbing his bruise, but he kept running with Cho right behind him.

"Harry! Cho!" someone screamed, and the two ran in the direction the yell came from, running into the Weasleys, Dean, and Seamus. "Fuck! What the _hell _were you thinking?" Fred was screaming as he grabbed Cho and shoved her towards the door.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," Ron added, pulling on a trembling Ginny. The group of eight sprinted towards the doors, dodging people as best they could. Harry grabbed Seamus' elbow, taking most of his weight and all but dragging him out of there. A pane of glass in the door had been shot and shards of glass were littering the ground, crunching under their feet as they stumbled out of the building and ran down the street.

Smaller fights had erupted outside, but no one gave the eight running teenagers any trouble. Three blocks away they stopped, checking to make sure they weren't standing in claimed territory before sitting down. Cho and Ginny were in tears by now, and everyone was shaken, with exception to Seamus and Dean who were too smashed to appear troubled. They sat in silence for five minutes, letting their erratic heartbeats relax.

"Well..." Ron said faintly, a hint of a smile on his face, "I'm definitely reminded why you want to get the hell out of here, Harry." The black-haired teen nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, a weak smile of his own in place.

"Harry!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed as she wiped tears from her face. "Oh my god...your shoulder." Harry glanced down at his right shoulder, which was still stinging a bit. Blood had stained his already red shirt an even darker color; it appeared black in the street light's pale rays. Ginny's thin fingers pulled up his sleeve just enough to reveal the thin knife-wound. Harry shrugged away from her touch as Cho, George, Fred, and Ron crowded around.

"It's fine. I can hardly feel it," Harry said, pulling his shirtsleeve over it.

"You should at least let us look at it," Ron said. Harry shook his head.

"It's _fine_. Really. It's not even bleeding that much," the petite boy said firmly.

"Harry, you have a history of treating serious injuries as if they were nothing," Fred remarked dryly. "Put your damn pride out of the way for two seconds and just let us _look_," he asked. Harry rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh and dragged his sleeve up again. Ron took initiative and leaned closer, twisting Harry's body towards the light so he could see better.

"Does anyone have a cloth or something?" he asked. Cho came forward, holding her purple scarf.

"Here," she offered, handing it to Ron. The redhead pressed the scarf to Harry's cut, letting it soak up the blood. The black-haired boy didn't even flinch. After a few moments Ron lay the scarf aside and took another look at the injury. Harry hadn't been lying: it wasn't anything serious.

"Yeah, you're fine," Harry shot Fred and George an 'I told you so' look, to which they just shrugged, "It'll leave a nice scar, though," Ron finished, tugging Harry's sleeve back down.

"So now that we know your arm hasn't been severed...What in _fucking hell _were you thinking when you ran after Cho?" George asked. Cho put a hand on his arm.

"Don't yell at him, George. We all know Harry has a hero-complex. I shouldn't have ran off like that...it was stupid," the black-haired girl said softly. George turned to glare at her.

"Damn right it was stupid. What were _doing_?" he demanded. Cho's eyes welled up with tears again.

"C—Cedric's hurt...I wanted to...to make sure he was alright," she said, her lower lip trembling. Ginny immediately wrapped her in a hug.

"I'm sure he's fine, darlin'," Ginny comforted while George turned his back in order to glare at the ground. _She could have gotten Harry and herself _killed_, _he thought angrily, although Harry gave him a look and George sighed. He wasn't going to continue playing dad tonight...except to get everyone home...or in Seamus' case, to whichever place he was spending the night.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"So, you and Harry, huh?"

"Fr_ed_," George groaned, rolling over on his bed to look at the his brother while pulling the blankets around him a bit more. He saw his brother's silhouette shrug.

"Hey, you're my brother, he's one of my best friends, I'd like to know if you're dating," Fred whispered. George rolled his eyes.

"One: we're nowhere_ near _going out. Two: he doesn't like me back, which is the reason for number one," George said flatly, his voice quiet so Ron would stay sleeping on the other side of the room.

"Hey, he _did _drag you onto the dance floor tonight...and those weren't normal 'platonic hips'," Fred pointed out.

"Yes, they were. He dances like that with everyone. Fred, we're not going out, okay? I mean...we're both guys and everyone knows that's not really tolerated around here," George whispered.

"That's not totally true. There's a lot of gay guys around this area...just look at all the guys with AIDS and HIV; not that all of them are gay, but you know..." Fred reasoned.

"Fred, shut up. That's not the point. The point is that Harry does _not like me that way_. I'm totally fine with being his friend." There was a rustling noise on the other side of the room, and Ron's head lifted off the bed.

"Wha'cha guys talkin' 'bout?" Ron slurred.

"Nothing," the twins said at the same time. Ron made a little humming noise and fell back to sleep. Fred looked back to George.

"Yeah, fine with being his friend for _now_. You should just...take him out for dinner or something," he said lightly. George stared at his twin.

"Fred, I do that all the time. Fuck, _everyone _takes Harry out to dinner. Otherwise he doesn't _get _dinner," he stated. His brother laughed quietly.

"True. I give up, George. You'll figure it out yourself," Fred said. George sighed, nodding.

"So what should we do tomorrow? Last day of summer and all..." George wondered.

"Damn. Three months went fast, huh? We should plan a grand entrance for the first day of school...It's our senior year, we've got to do _something _dramatic," Fred thought out loud.

"Or we could walk with Harry—"

"Fuck, you _do _like him," Fred teased. George made a 'huff' noise.

"Whatever. We can figure out what we're doing tomorrow _tomorrow, '_kay? I'm going to bed," George said, wishing his brother 'goodnight'. Fred grunted in reply and silence enveloped the room only to be disturbed by the occasional rumble of the passing subway train.

...

Harry slipped into his apartment with a wave to the rest of the party—no one had been willing let anyone else walk home by themselves—and shut the door, locking and dead bolting it quietly. His uncle was either sleeping or passed out on a street corner somewhere—the apartment was fairly quiet and the TV couldn't be heard.

Exhausted like always after a night clubbing, and even more so because of the adrenaline rush he got when running away from the fights, Harry walked into his room and crashed on the bed. He didn't bother showering the smells of alcohol and drugs off, or even changing his bloody shirt. He could do it in the morning. _Ugh...last day of summer, _Harry thought, discovering he wasn't so excited about his new school as he thought he would be. At least the Hell Hole was something familiar, Fifth Ave...it was a whole new ball game.

* * *

I normally really don't like club scenes in fanfiction stories, and therefor try to avoid writing them myself, but the scene in this story kind of...wrote itself before I realized that it was the dreaded club scene that I dislike so much. Oh well. It was fun to write, but there won't be too many more of them unless you guys thought it was fun to read.

I'd love to hear what everyone thought of this chapter, or the story in general. Remember, any suggestions are welcome!

Wykkyd


	5. Right Turn

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. Haha...hilarious.

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who commented and reviewed on the last chapter! You guys make my week with your ideas and suggestions and feedback. There were a few people who weren't signed in when they commented, so I couldn't reply to you! Sorry, and know that I still appreciate the comments.

In case you guys hadn't figured it out...if you're reading this in hopes that Harry and Draco leap into bed with each other, you will be disappointed. It's a slow-developing relationship...the kind that typically happens in real life.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Right Turn**

"Breakfast! _Breakfast, BOY_!" Vernon yelled from his room. Harry moaned, rolling over in his bed and rubbing his eyes as his uncle continued to yell for food. After several seconds Harry sat up, looking at the clock on the wall out of habit. Eleven. _Why is Vernon up so early_? Harry thought as he stood up, wincing as his shirt rubbed against his injury from last night. Deciding not to further anger his uncle, Harry forgo his shower until after breakfast; he could use some food himself, actually.

"Shut up, Vernon!" Harry yelled as he left his room and started going through the fridge. "I'm making something."

"Well hurry it up!" Vernon replied, switching on the television. Harry sighed, pulling out five eggs and the last bit of good cheese. Quickly scrambling the eggs and grating in cheese, Harry served himself a small portion and a much larger one for his uncle. When the black-haired teen walked into his uncle's room, the large man was flipping through channels, cursing re-runs. Harry set the plate with a fork on top on the small table near Vernon's armchair, and silently left the room.

"COFFEE!" Came another demand seconds after Harry had begun to eat his own breakfast. With an angry sigh, the teen slammed his plate down on the counter and went to start coffee for his uncle.

...

Lying in bed that night, Harry couldn't decide if the day had gone by quickly, or extremely slowly. He couldn't decide if he was dreading the first day of school at Fifth Avenue School of the Arts, or if he was looking forward to it.

Much of his day had been spent looking over the paperwork, memorizing his locker number and combination, checking the grade-level requirements, his schedule, the list of equipment you were supposed to have...the little things. It was easy to forge Vernon's signature in the appropriate places, the schedule he memorized as best he could, and Harry was able to round up the normal school materials: pencil, pen, binder (from last year), notebook—he'd have to get a new one pretty soon, though—calculator, and any other odds and ends that had been on his list. The other items that a dancer was supposed to have were a bit more troublesome. He was required to have three pairs of black canvas shoes, one pair of black leather ones, warm ups—Harry figured he could just use sweatpants and a track jacket for that—black tights and pink tights, black pants for regular classes—he already had those—and some sort of form-fitting shirt—he had one or two of those, as well. Hoping for the best, Harry didn't try to go to a dance store and buy shoes and tights or anything else he might need. He didn't really have the money to do it with at the moment, and he wasn't feeling rebellious or stupid enough to steal the money from his uncle. There were other ways to get money of course, there _always_ was, but Harry wasn't interested. He could worry about the things he needed tomorrow, or the day after that...whenever he had time.

For now, all he wanted to do was sleep, but it didn't seem that it would happen anytime soon. Nervousness would keep him awake if the loud noises from Vernon's TV didn't, and even if everything was quiet and the butterflies ramming his insides calmed down, Harry _still _didn't think he'd be able to sleep. He was tempted to just forget the whole thing, to show up at the Hell Hole instead of the School of the Arts tomorrow morning, but he knew he couldn't.

Harry sat up with a sigh, glancing to his backpack in the corner of the tiny room. It was packed and ready to go for tomorrow, with exception to his lunch, which was in the refrigerator and would be packed into the bag tomorrow. _What on earth am I doing? _Harry wondered, and not for the first time. He pushed the thin blanket off of his legs and wrapped it around his torso, sitting cross-legged in the dark. He was a poor kid going to school with rich kids...every one of his instincts told him to back off..._I'm out of my fucking league..._

Not wanting to waste his time trying in vain to fall asleep, Harry scooted off the bed with the blanket still wrapped around him and stood up, only to bend down from his hips. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow night...stretching now might help a bit.

:::::::::::::::::

The beeping of his alarm clock woke him at six thirty the next morning. Harry turned it off, groaning sleep out of his system. The silence in the apartment—despite Vernon's snores that could easily be heard through the thin walls—tempted Harry to fall back to sleep, but he made himself roll out of bed and change. He shrugged into a thin, simple, blue shirt—rubbing his back where the rogue springs in his bed had chaffed all night long—and a pair of black jeans with holes in the knees and held up with a belt completed his outfit. Harry knew he didn't look amazing, hell, he looked almost as poor as he was, but he was determined not to dress up for the kids at this school. He was determined not to care about any of that.

He had showered last night, and Harry found the wet hair he had slept with was even more messy than usual upon inspection of himself in the bathroom's cracked and stained mirror. He ran his hands under the faucet for a moment and then ran them through his hair, trying to tame it, however slightly. After putting his contacts in Harry left the bathroom, trying to ignore his thin, almost gaunt face in the mirror. Madame Hooch's words came back to him, "Gain ten pounds or else you're off to Mr. Black!" Well, maybe she hadn't exactly said that, but the meaning had been the same. Harry briefly wondered if he would look overweight weighing ninety-nine pounds, but then shoved the question out of his head. Of course he wouldn't, if anything, he would look better. _What do I care_? He asked himself as he grabbed his lunch from the fridge. _I'm not putting on shows for people. _Still, the rational side of him knew he needed to find a way to eat more if he was going to be dancing several hours a day. It was only a matter of doing so with minimal harm to himself...which meant Vernon couldn't notice and he would have to be careful about what he ate himself so Vernon could always have what he liked.

Shaking his head, Harry poured himself some cereal and splashed a bit of milk on it, eating his breakfast quickly. He considered making eggs for himself, but wasn't up to the effort.

The black-haired boy left his apartment with conflicting feelings. He turned right this morning, when last year on the first day of school he had turned left. He could no longer walk to his school, he had to walk and then take a fifteen-minute bus ride that landed him in the middle of downtown. It was going to be entirely too different for Harry to be comfortable at all, and he made his way through the streets on rigid legs, boarding the correct bus with a blank face while shoving his nervousness in some remote corner of his mind...only to have it come rushing back with nauseating force a moment later.

Harry arrived at seven forty-five, ten minutes early—something he had hoped for—and he walked into the large school feeling small and insignificant.

"Ah! _You _must be Mr. Potter!" a lady inside the office gushed when she looked up at saw him. Harry nodded mutely, a deer-in-headlights expression on his face. "Excellent! Well, _I _am Professor Sprout, I teach biology here. I've heard from Sibyl you're quite the dancer," she remarked.

"Sibyl?" Harry squeaked, shrinking and fighting the temptation to look down at his feet.

"Well, you'll call her Madam Trelawney, of course. She's one of the three ballet teachers her. Wonderful lady...you'll like her." Harry just nodded. "Well, I'm so glad to have met you, Mr. Potter—do you mind if I call you Harry?" Harry shook his head. "Harry, then," Professor Sprout continued, "anyhow, I must be off to prepare for first period. You'll want to check in with Professor McGonagall—placement tests and all that. Have a fun first day!" Harry stared at her as she bustled out of the office and strode quickly down the hall, moving around the students who were milling about. Harry walked up to the counter at the office, looking around for McGonagall. He had no idea what she looked like at all.

Harry was spared, though, when a thin woman came striding out of the door that led to the very back of the office. Her thin lips curved into a graceful smile when she saw him.

"Mr. Potter, I am Minerva McGonagall, although you should address me as Professor McGonagall in class. I'm afraid we'll have to rush a bit, so why don't you come with me now? We're having the placement tests in room 124, that's on this floor," she clarified. Harry nodded, hurrying to keep up with her long stride. She swung sharply into the correct room, which already contained twelve or so students, indicating for Harry to take a seat. He took one in the back, nearest the wall and slid off his backpack and jacket, setting them underneath his desk. "Normally we would let you all get squared away in your lockers, but I think we would all to get these over with as soon as possible." She did a quick head count. "We're missing Peter; does anyone know where Peter McCarthy is?" No one said 'yes'. "Very well, we'll start without him. There are three tests in front of you: math, reading, and writing. You have until lunch to complete all three; that's approximately four hours. If you finish before then, you are welcome to better acquaint yourselves with the school, visit amongst yourselves, or use the practice rooms on the third floor. I will ask you sophomores not to leave the school during you extra time, although in the future you will be free to leave for any free period you have as well as for lunch. Freshman are strictly forbidden to leave the campus at any time during school hours unless accompanied by a teacher or an adult, unless you have permission from a teacher here. When you have completed your tests, you can bring them to the office. Questions?" None. "Very well. You may begin."

At first Harry was concerned—to put it mildly—that the Thirteenth District Public High School wouldn't prepare him academically for a premier school like this, but the fear faded quickly as he worked his way through questions on all three tests with relative ease. Towards the end of each test the questions got harder, but Harry surprised himself at his ability to answer most of those as well. After three hours Harry set his pencil down with a relieved sigh, just after the bell had rang. The blurry outlines of kid's faces could be seen through the fogged window in the door as they rushed to get to their next class, and Harry waited until another bell rang ten minutes later before picking up his backpack, jacket, and tests. When he slipped out of the room the halls were blissfully empty.

Harry was lucky enough to find Hermione at lunch, all but clinging to her as she led him through the crowd of two hundred students to sit at a table. When most everyone was seated, Harry couldn't help but glance around curiously. At his old school kids sat according to which group they belonged to, with subgroups inside of those. Among the 'white kids' you had your popular slut-girls and cheerleaders, the sporty guys, the skaters, the nerds, the misfits, the druggies...the list went on and on. Here Harry had trouble finding groups. There were a few musicians in a corner jamming quietly while eating, a few dancers near them still dressed in their dance warm-ups. Draco Malfoy caught Harry's eye; he was sitting with Pansy and a few other kids. This was the only table that had a clear distinction from all the others. Draco, Pansy, and the others at their table were dressed in expensive clothes, holding themselves with the posture of the wealthy. But even so, they still looked up when someone waved at them or yelled something to them, no partiality on their faces.

"Harry! _Harry!_" Hermione called, yanking Harry's attention back to her. There were now several other teens sitting at their table. "I want you to meet my friends. Guys, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Neville, Justin, Doug, Dennis, and Luna." Harry gave everyone a small wave, nodding to Neville and Justin who were familiar from his registration group.

"Are you guys...freshman, sophomore, juniors...?" Harry asked quietly.

"Well, Nev, Hermione, Doug, and I are sophomores, and Luna and Dennis are freshman," Justin said with a friendly grin. Harry let a smile flicker on his own face, pulling his half-sandwich out of the crinkled paper bag in his lap and setting it on a napkin he had grabbed from the counter in the front of the cafeteria. He caught Hermione glance at it with a disapproving face, but didn't try and defend himself. _At this rate _everyone's _going to think I'm anorexic, _Harry thought, taking a bite from his lunch.

"Do you want my apple, Harry? I'm not going to eat it," Justin offered, holding his apple out to the black-haired teen. Harry blushed, shaking his head and swallowing.

"Uh...I'm fine, Justin. Thanks, though," He replied, looking at his lap. Justin just shrugged, setting the apple down near Harry's place anyway.

"So, how were everyone's classes?" Hermione chirped, eating yogurt.

"_Fab_ulous. I'm so glad I got accepted here: the academics are simply profound, and the singing instructors that I've met so far are wonderfully talented," Luna gushed in a melodious voice.

"Fine. I mean....it is _school_, but classes have been good, I guess," Justin said around a mouthful of his lunch. Dennis and Doug said similar things, and everyone looked to Neville. Harry let himself glance at the quiet boy, taking in his rather round figure, dull brown hair and brown eyes. He looked...more normal than Harry expected people here to look. He looked at Luna, who was dressed in an eclectic mix of a brown dress with stars embroidered on it, blue and green striped tights with brown legwarmers. There was a bottle cap necklace around her necklace, two different earrings hung from her ears, there was a pencil behind her left ear, and her lips were a bright red. She looked...artistic, Harry decided with a small smile.

"Neville?" Doug prompted. The shy boy just shrugged.

"Fine. I mean...they weren't horrible, so that means they were okay, right?" he asked with a smile. Luna laughed, nodding, and Doug smiled. Harry viewed the six friends smiling at each other as he quietly ate his lunch. He felt distinctly out of place, even though he probably didn't seem it to anyone else. Doug, who was sitting on his left, turned to him with a smile.

"So, Harry, what's your talent?" he asked. Harry met his gaze for a brief second, taking the opportunity to memorize Doug's face. He had exotic features that complimented his fairly dark skin; shiny black hair was pulled back into a short pony tail, although several strands had fallen out and hung loosely around his face. Harry couldn't help but notice how handsome the boy was.

"Uh...dancer," Harry whispered, looking down. He saw Doug smile out of the corner of his eye.

"Sweet; me too. Do you know if you have any classes with me or 'Mione?" the tanned boy asked.

"I don't know," Harry answered.

"Well, Harry's been in placement testing all morning, so I'm not sure about the morning classes. What's your fifth period class?" Hermione asked Harry. Harry thought back to his schedule. Second, fifth, seventh period were always a talent class, so he knew he was dancing at twelve thirty. He thought he might have Latin dance with a Mrs. Valencia for fifth period. Harry said so, and Hermione's face fell. "Oh, I have hip hop and jazz at twelve thirty. Darn. Well, we'll probably end up in the same period at one point or another. The class schedules are crazy," Hermione said. Harry just nodded.

"Hmm...Latin for fifth...You've got Latin for fifth period, Doug," Justin spoke up. Doug looked to him.

"I do?"

"Yeah, moron. I saw it on your schedule this morning," Justin replied.

"Fuck, you're probably right, I haven't looked past lunch today," Doug said.

"Well, of _course _you haven't looked past lunch. For you, everything stops at lunch!" Dennis exclaimed with a laugh; Harry had the feeling that they had known each other before today, even though they hadn't gone to the same school last year. Doug just rolled his eyes, turning back to Harry.

"So...you ever done any Latin before?" he asked. Harry blushed, lowering his gaze from the deep brown eyes staring at him.

"Um...not formally or anything. I really haven't had much dance training," he whispered. There were a few whistles from the kids at the table and Hermione smiled at him, shrugging.

"Can everyone say 'prodigy'?" Justin asked with a proud smirk, making Harry's blush deepen.

"Really guys, I'm not...that great, or anything," Harry said, but they ignored him.

"Look, Mr. Potter, you're a scholarship kid. That means that you're good, because if you weren't you wouldn't be here," Justin explained. Harry looked to Hermione with an accusing face, but she shook her head.

"I didn't tell them, if that's what you're thinking. You have to realize that anyone paying attention at the auditions won't recognize you, which means you're either a rich kid—and no offense, but you don't look like it _or _act like it—or a scholarship student. You seem to think we'll think less of you knowing that, but you're not going to run into any problems from most kids here," she explained. Harry raised his eyebrows in a challenging way, tilting his head back in the direction of Pansy. The group around him followed his nod. There was silence for a moment before Justin shrugged.

"They're actually not that bad. I have a couple classes with Draco—he's a nice guy most of the time—and Blaise is Hermione's—"

"_Justin!_" Hermione shrieked, her face red. Harry couldn't help laughing, glancing at the boy to the right of Draco and trying to picture them together. "We're _not _going out," Hermione continued, to which the rest of her friends just rolled their eyes.

"Sure, 'Mione. I bet in two weeks that'll be a lie," Dennis said with a confident smirk. Hermione just crossed her arms and looked away from them, her cheeks still ferociously red. Harry hid his smile behind his sandwich, taking another bite.

"But really, the only one at that table who traditionally hates everyone not wearing Prada and Gucci is Pansy Parkingson. She's the blonde," Justin pointed out.

"Yeah, I met her on Monday," Harry said after swallowing. The group gave him sympathetic smiles and he nodded.

"So fuck her, and everyone else is cool. Don't worry about that kind of stuff, Harry, no one else does," Doug said, giving Harry a squeeze on the shoulder and a wink. Harry just shrugged, taking another glance at Draco's laughing face before going back to his meager lunch, trying to calm his nerves.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Latin was...sexy, Harry realized, as he watched Doug spin a girl on the floor and then drag her towards him, pressing his hips into hers briefly and then spinning her away from him. Harry looked at the instructor, wondering if she would find this inappropriate or not, but her face was one of calm concentration, no surprise or disgust written on it. Several demonstrations later Harry was assured that the amount of..._closeness _was normal in this class.

As they were spread out across the mirrored room with Mrs. Valencia in the front, Harry found he knew many of the steps they were going over. They were the same ones he performed with the Mexican kids clubbing, although without the hip hop moves thrown in-between. Even when dancing with a partner Harry felt comfortable, though it was challenging to lead a girl around the floor. Fifty minutes went by surprisingly pain-free, and Harry couldn't help but smile as Mrs. Valencia called class and sent them off with a few words.

"Good first class, ladies and gentlemen. I'm planning on reviewing for the rest of the week, and by Monday we'll start moving onwards, starting from where we left off last year. I hope you all remember what we covered," she said with a wink, before turning back to one of the mirrors and running over a combination to teach the next class.

Doug caught up to him in the hall, his eyes smiling and cheeks flushed.

"God, I forgot how much I _love _Latin!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"You're really good," Harry said with honesty.

"You're not bad yourself. Just need to work on a few things," Doug said, waving to a tall boy hurrying past them. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't lie. I have a _ton _of things to work on," Harry said flatly.

"Take it one class at a time, okay? This first week is all review, so there's nothing you have to worry about there. Next week, if you really think you're having trouble, Mrs. Valencia will meet with you after school's over and work with you for an hour or two. Any of the teachers would do that," Dough reassured. Harry just sighed, shaking his head.

"What...what if I felt I'm not ready for the sophomore classes?" Harry said as boldly as possible, fighting down his blush. Doug caught on.

"You mean, you're thinking you might want to switch to the freshman classes eventually?" he paused to think. "It's fine. You probably won't need to do that for all the classes though, maybe ballet....hip-hop can be challenging if you get Dan as your teacher..." Doug mused.

"I'm mainly thinking ballet and Latin, actually. I'm not bad with street styles—hip-hop—but ballet is my weak spot and I've never done any partnering or anything," Harry mentioned.

"What about Latin then? You were awesome today, for your first class and everything," Doug said with a smile, stopping at his locker. Harry waited for him to grab his math book before the two moved on to Harry's locker.

"I've done a bit of Latin, I guess. Really informally and everything, but I'm familiar with the style. The trickier steps are the ones I'm worried about." Doug laughed, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, you worry too much. Deal with the harder things when you run into them, there's no use worrying about it right now when you should just be figuring out the basics." Harry nodded with a shrug; Doug was right. He needed to stop worrying. "So, what class do you have next?" Harry grabbed his schedule, looking it over. Two twenty to three ten was...chemistry.

"Chemistry, room two-oh-eight," Harry replied. Doug grimaced sympathetically.

"Ouch. That's Snape," he commented; Harry raised his eyebrows. "Snape's the teacher. Really good; totally knows what he's talking about, but he's _cruel_. Don't get on his bad side, it'll be the last thing you ever do," Doug said, his voice mockingly serious. Harry just rolled his eyes, moving to the classroom. Doug gave him a wave and moved towards the stairs going to the third floor for his English class and Harry pushed the door to room two hundred and eight open and slipped inside, his gaze lifted only enough to see which desks were empty and which were occupied. With Doug's warning in his mind, Harry chose a spot in the back, but one that still had a clear view of the desk in the front of the room. The girl in the desk in front of him turned around, a smile on her face.

"Harry, right?" she asked. Harry nodded wordlessly. "Hi, I'm Padma Patil, one of Hermione's friends. Nice to meet you," she said, holding a hand out. He shook it quickly, and then pulled his hand away.

"Yeah, you too."

"Dancer?" Harry nodded again. "I wish I could dance...it looks so...I don't know!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "You all just look so graceful, I guess. Anyway, I'm an actor," Padma stated.

Just as Harry was about to respond, the bell sounded and the door to the classroom snapped open, a tall man dressed in black striding into the room. Padma whipped around in her seat, and silence fell on the whole class. Harry felt his nerves rise on end and he stilled. The man, assumed to be Snape, stood still as well, black eyes roaming the classroom. He was thin and wiry with a large nose and slightly greasy black hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, dressed in a black button-up shirt with a black tie, and wearing black slacks.

Harry barely breathed until Snape turned his back, moving to the chalk board behind him and writing down page numbers and assignments. Still, the class was silent.

"Our year will be organized in eight units, each one focusing on an important concept in chemistry," Snape said, his voice low and sharp. "Our first unit will be focused on the structure and principles of energy and matter." A daring hand shot into the air and Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" he snapped.

"Our textbooks say the first unit is the Nature of Chemistry," the boy pointed out. Snape smiled, not a kind gesture at all.

"If you were under the impression that I teach according to what the textbook tells me to, you were _severely _mistaken, Mr. Wyatt. If you do not already know and understand simple math, and the scientific units of measurement, perhaps you should _get out of my class." _Snape slammed his hand down on the desk, making everyone jump. The boy paled and fell silent, and Snape's onyx eyes roamed the room for another victim. By this time Harry had figured out how to act around Snape: the same way he acted around his uncle. Stay still and silent as much as possible.

Forty-five minutes into the class Harry was the only person to escape Snape's evil stares and sharp comments, although as Snape began giving the end-of-class lecture, Harry found himself drifting. A sharp smack broke into his stream of thoughts just moments after he stopped paying attention. He jumped in surprise, his eyes rising to meet the teacher's in an instant and then flicking down to his desk.

"_Look at me, _Mr. Potter." Harry's eyes snapped up. "What gives you the privilege to _ignore _my final words to this _incompetent _classroom?" Snape yelled. Harry flinched, looking back to his desk. A moment later Snape demanded an answer to his question.

"Nothing, sir," Harry whispered.

"_Look at me!" c_ame the next demand. Pursing his lips, Harry lifted his gaze again to stare defiantly at his teacher. Snape nodded his satisfaction. "This is the only warning you will get, Potter," he finished. Silence enveloped the class room until the bell rang moments later. Yet still, Snape remained by Harry's desk until the boy forced himself move under the glare. He slipped from the room with Snape's eyes boring a hole into his back.

"Hey," a smooth voice said off to his left. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy leaning casually against the wall, a small smile on his face.

"Oh...uh...Hi," Harry stammered uncomfortably, looking away from the blonde. Draco laughed, walking closer to Harry so the two could walk down the hall side by side.

"How have your classes been?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Good, I guess. I don't think Snape—I mean, _Professor _Snape—likes me that much, though," the black-haired boy commented.

"Did he chew you out in the first five minutes?" Draco wondered. Harry shook his head. "Half and hour?" Again, Harry shook his head.

"No, it was more like the _last _five minutes. But he seemed a lot more frustrated when talking to me than anyone else."

"Brush it off. The first week or two always leaves him pretty stressed. And you know if he likes you or not by the number of minutes it takes for him to find something wrong with the way you're doing something. If it took him all class, you'll be a favorite. Not that he'll ever let you know it," he said. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Right. How were _your_ classes?"

"Fine. Nothing special. There's a new teacher for my group class, though, and I really like him. He's an amazing teacher." Harry just nodded, pulling his schedule out of his pocket and glancing at it. Draco peered over his shoulder. "Hmmm....Character. Sounds interesting," he commented.

"What's 'character'?" Harry asked, staring at the word on the paper.

"Something related to dance...I don't know. Guess you'll find out," Draco offered. Harry bit his lip, shoving his schedule back into his pocket and staring at the ground. "You worry too much," Draco said to his left. Harry gave a dry laugh.

"That's what Doug said."

"Doug? Oh yeah...I know him. Nice guy," Draco mentioned slowly.

"You think?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Oh, just wondering....He just doesn't seem like the type of guy that you would—"

"Know? Hang out with?" Seeing Harry's blush, Draco laughed. "Hey, this is a pretty small school. I hang out with a lot of kids you wouldn't expect. And I didn't _just_ 'hang out' with him per say...I dated him last year," Draco stated. Harry was shocked into looking up for a second before his green eyes darted away. Draco laughed again at his reaction.

"But...But you're going out with...uh..."

"Pansy? Yeah, we've been going out a while now. I mean, I only dated Doug for about a month: we really didn't click. But I can admit he's a nice guy," Draco said.

He really hadn't thought Draco would be the type to go out with a guy, but it wasn't as if he was repulsed by the idea. He knew gay kids back on the streets though...and if it wasn't already obvious they wouldn't admit their sexuality for the world. It was too dangerous. So now it seemed odd that Draco would be comfortable admitting that kind of thing to someone he hardly knew, seemingly doing so without much thought. _Well...it is an art school, _Harry told himself, getting the idea that sexuality wasn't that big of a deal here. Half this guys in the Latin class today had been so flamingly gay Harry almost laughed. To act and dress that way was _unheard _of on the streets unless you were a male prostitute or club dancer. The...openness Draco displayed was...strange, and yet no one around them had turned their heads with menacing looks or hands balled into fists. Harry shook his head; it was just another difference between these kid's lives and his own.

"Earth to Harry...." Draco's hand waved in front of his face, cutting off his train of thought.

"Uh...yeah?" Harry asked, smiling self-consciously. Draco just rolled his eyes.

"Will you come get coffee with me after school?" he asked. Harry's eyes widened.

"Um...yeah, I guess I could. That'd be great," he said, knowing it would be good to get something in his stomach before he got back to his place.

"Great. I'll meet you at the office. A couple of my friends will probably be there too, it's kind of a first-day-of-school coffee thing," Draco explained.

"If you just wanna hang with your friends um...then I can just go home..." Harry offered quietly, not wanting to intrude in Draco's life. The blonde shook his head, dropping an arm around Harry's shoulder. The younger teen jumped, but managed to contain his flinch. Uncomfortable with the close proximity, he slid out from under Draco's arm as the older boy answered.

"No, I want you to come. My friends want to meet you as well, so don't worry about it. It'll be my treat, and I can drive you home afterwards," Draco said.

"I'll just take the bus, but thanks," Harry said. Draco shrugged, a 'suit yourself' gesture.

"Whatever. I'll see you in forty-five minutes," he said, giving Harry a wink before walking off to class. The black-haired boy stood still for another moment before shaking his head and moving off to 'character class', whatever that was.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading! If you're enjoying the story so far, please let me know! Really!

Until next time,

Wykkyd


	6. Incriminating Silences

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. This is me informing you all so I don't get sued.

**A/N: **Okay. I really want your guys' opinion on something. I have about a month and a half left of summer, before I begin college and get swamped with all that stuff. But, I have a lot of stories that are fairly developed (I have 8 or so chapters in them), and I'm wanting to know if I should just go ahead and post them—for fear I won't be able to in college. I guess the only reason I'm conflicted with this is because for the last several years I've done one story at a time to make sure I finish it, but I'm so attached to this story now that I don't think there's any chance I would stop writing it. So...shall I begin posting my other two stories? One is another H/D, and another is a (shameshameshameshame) Harry/Edward Twilight crossover (shameshameshameshameshame).

There were two anonymous reviews that I wanted to thank people for—they were excellent comments!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Incriminating Silence**

Harry shoved everything into his worn bag and ran down the staircase to the first floor of the school. Before heading to meet Draco near the office he swerved into the bathroom, setting his bag down on the bench and quickly relieving himself before washing his hands and then pausing to look at himself in the mirror. He looked...the same as he had this morning, although there was a rather annoying and ever-present blush on his cheeks now. He absently noted that he didn't like the look of his pale face and red cheeks, but didn't know why he was noticing this _now. _He kind of blamed it on Draco, actually, because he tended to get really self-conscious when the blonde was around, in a 'does my hair look alright?' way.

Harry shook his head to clear it of the strange thoughts and spun on his heel, grabbing his bag and leaving the bathroom while thinking about his plain, boring, and unhealthy appearance. Fuck it; what did he care?

He had just spotted Draco leaning against the office counter talking with the kid named Blaise when a woman's voice called his name.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry turned to see a round woman with a smiling face poking her head out of the nurse's office. She was dressed in white and there was a clipboard in her hand. Harry mentally groaned, looking back to where Draco and his friends were waiting for him.

"Um...yeah?" he asked.

"Could I see you for a few minutes?" she asked, still smiling. The black-haired boy reluctantly nodded.

"Let me just tell my...friends that they shouldn't wait," he said, not waiting for an answer before darting down the hall to come to a stop by Draco side. Both older teen's looked down at him and Harry realized just how tall Blaise was.

"Blaise, this is Harry, the dancer I mentioned," Draco introduced gracefully. Harry nodded to Blaise—not making eye contact—and then turned back to Draco.

"The nurse needs to see me for a few minutes. I wanted to tell you to go ahead," he said. Blaise nodded as if he was content to leave now, although Draco rolled his eyes.

"Bitch. Blaise, I'll hang with Harry and we'll meet up with you guys in a few," Draco suggested. His friend shrugged, shouldering his backpack and moving away to grab Pansy's elbow and bring her out of the building. Harry saw a few others follow them, the group chatting and laughing. "So, nurse?" Draco confirmed.

"Yeah," Harry bit out, his lips upturned in an unhappy sneer. Draco snorted at his reaction but prodded him back up the hall nevertheless.

"I'll wait outside," Draco told Harry as the black-haired boy slipped into the office.

"Got that sorted out with your friends, then?" the nurse asked when she saw him enter, setting her clipboard down. Harry shut the door, not answering her question. "Well, I'm Madame Pomfrey, the head nurse here. I believe you met Madame Hooch on Monday?" Harry shrugged. "She made a few observations that I feel the need to check with you about," Pomfrey continued cheerfully as Harry's blank face slowly turned angry.

"She thinks I have an eating disorder," Harry stated flatly. Madame Pomfrey looked up in surprise, but nodded.

"Yes, actually," she said slowly. Harry crossed his arms and glared.

"Well, I don't, okay?"

"Nevertheless, you weight eighty-nine pounds, which is a problematic weight for anyone, let alone a serious dancer," she continued. Harry's glare deepened.

"Yeah, that might have been mentioned," he snapped. "I'm supposed to gain ten pounds within the month."

"And do you see any problems with achieving this goal?" the nurse asked gently.

"No!" _Yes. _

"Are you sure?"

"_No. _I mean yes. Yes, I'm sure," Harry lied. Madame Pomfrey nodded, sitting down in her chair and gesturing for Harry to do the same. He remained standing.

"Harry, eating disorders are not uncommon here at this school. It's nothing you have to hide or be ashamed of. We have a well-trained staff to help you as much as possible, but you must let us do so in order to make any progress," she explained slowly.

"Look, I _told _you _and _the Hooch woman that I don't have a _fucking _eating disorder! I _don't_!" Harry yelled.

"Then kindly explain your weight," the nurse asked.

"I _can't _eat because—" Harry stopped, choking down the rest of his sentence.

"Go on," Madame Pomfrey encouraged.

"I can't tell you and you can't make me," Harry said childishly, turning away from her. The round woman cracked a small smile.

"I see that, Mr. Potter," she commented with a nod, "Still, until you offer an alternative—to any staff member here at the school—I am obligated to help you gain weight. If you can not, or will not, then you'll be sent to counseling. If it progresses enough to become dangerous to you as a dancer, you will be removed from talent classes until you are well. Do you understand?" She asked. Harry nodded, still glaring.

"That it?" he snapped.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, that will be all for today. Perhaps you'll see me in a week?"

"N—"

"Excellent. I will remind you, of course," she said. Harry resisted the urge to start yelling again and walked out of the room, slamming the door violently behind him. He made it halfway to the school's front door before remembering that Draco had been waiting for him. Harry spun around to see a highly amused blonde smirking at him, lounged comfortably on the chair he was sitting in. Draco slowly stood and Harry waited with his eyes on the floor until Draco came to his side.

"Should I even ask?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"Ya know, I think I might just go home...I'm not really—"

"It couldn't have been that bad!" Draco said, leading Harry towards the door. "Come on, what happened?"

"Just...stuff. She was just confirming things, I guess," Harry answered.

"How about we grab something to drink and then take a walk in the park. You can tell me about it," Draco offered.

"No, you should hang out with your friends. I don't want to—"

"Impose, yeah yeah," Draco finished for him, rolling his grey eyes. "I don't offer things if I don't want to do them. I'll buy you a coffee, and then we can head down to the park, okay?" he asked. Harry blushed as he nodded, it wasn't as if Draco was giving him much of a choice. "Great," Draco finished, holding the door open for Harry and following the dark-haired boy out of the school. The two walked side-by-side in silence until Draco pointed to a small to-go coffee shop. "So what would you like?"

"Oh, a latte would be fine," Harry answered softly. "Thanks, Draco." The blonde just smiled at him.

Ten minutes later the two boys were walking down the paved paths of the downtown park, both sipping coffees and holding their jackets closer to ward off the chill in the air.

"So...what's with the whole nurse thing?" Draco asked after several more minutes. He had a pretty good idea what was going on in the first place, but he was interested in hearing Harry's side of the story. The black-haired boy shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Uh...do you think I'm anorexic? Or bulimic or whatever?" Harry asked, his voice shy and his eyes staring at his feet, as always.

"I couldn't say. You're skinny enough," Draco pointed out. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. The nurse thinks I'm anorexic, and wants me to gain ten pounds in the next month."

"Well, you wanna know what she's going to be doing during that month?" Draco asked. "Watching you during lunch. That's what Pomfrey does for all the kids with eating disorders. Then, if you fail her test...you get set to Mr. Black. Although right now I'd say that you're bulimic, because a lot of anorexic kids I knew had problems drinking coffee. They would go for tea or just water. So I don't really think you're anorexic," Draco commented. Harry let himself smile a bit.

"Well, I'm not bulimic either. I hate throwing up," he said. "I'm just skinny."

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like you're naturally that skinny," Draco mentioned.

"I know. So I guess I'll just have to gain ten pounds...and that's...doable...I guess."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Draco asked. Harry didn't answer. "So _that's _why Pomfrey thinks you're anorexic."

"Let's talk about something else, okay?" Harry broke in suddenly, forcing a smile on his face and looking at Draco's face for a moment. The blonde shrugged, pretending to ignore Harry's sudden change of tone.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?" The black-haired teen shrugged.

"Uh...I dunno. How about you? Why'd you start violin?"

"My mother made me, actually. I started on the piano but hated it, and she's always wanted me to be musical, so she brought me to the violin shop—it's her favorite instrument—and let me pick one out. Honestly, my father wants me to be a businessman and take over his company one day, but I already have a music scholarship into several different Ivy League schools. It was him who decided if I was going to play the violin I should be good at it—he's always thought it was a sissy instrument for girls to play," Draco said with a smirk. Harry snorted.

"Yeah? You should hear what my uncle thinks about dance," he exclaimed dryly. Draco laughed.

"It's kind of weird how most kids at Hogwarts only have one supportive parent," the blonde commented.

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, confused.

"Oh, it's what everyone calls the School of the Arts. I'm surprised you haven't heard it before now."

"Why 'Hogwarts'? That's a really...odd name," Harry commented. Draco shrugged.

"I'm not sure, actually. I think it has something to do with the first four founders of the school. You know, it used to be completely different. There were four houses: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Slytherin was for instrumentalists, Gryffindor was for dancers, Hufflepuff was for actors, and Ravenclaw was for visual artists. At some point visual art was cut out of the curriculum, and the houses began loosing their meaning. Now it's just interesting history," Draco explained.

"That's cool," Harry said, smiling to himself.

"Yeah. I kind of wish the houses hadn't been wiped out: it would have been a lot of fun. But I guess it was easier to do that back then because everyone boarded in the school, and now only about three quarters of the kids board there," the blonde mused. Harry's head snapped up.

"School of the Arts is a _boarding _school?" he asked. Draco looked down at him, nodding.

"Of course. Boarding is only offered to the kids who aren't from around here, though. My best friend, Blaise, is from Chicago and he lives in the dorms."

"Where are they?" Harry asked, an idea popping into his head.

"About three blocks away from the school, on E street. It used to be a small hotel back in the...twenties, I think, but now the school owns it. About one hundred and fifty kids stay there."

"Are all those kids from other cities?"

"I think; I've never heard of anyone from here boarding, so probably," Draco answered, looking ahead although keeping an eye on Harry peripherally. Something was a little...strange about his behavior, now that Draco was thinking about it. Why was he so interested in the dorms? But Harry just nodded at his answer and stopped asking questions. "So...have you lived here your whole life?" Draco asked.

"Pretty much. My parents moved here when I was about one, and since I was two I've lived with my Uncle."

"What happened to your parents?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Died. Car accident. It's how I got this scar." Harry pushed his bangs aside and Draco got a good look at a lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry's pale forehead.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. Harry shrugged, letting his bangs fall over the scar again.

"Naw," he continued, "i's not like I can remember them that much. So, what about you?" Harry asked tactfully. "You been here for your whole life?"

"No. My dad moved his company headquarters to here when I was seven. I used to live in Boston. My mom still works there on and off; lately it's been more 'off'," Draco replied.

"What does your mom do?" Harry wondered.

"Fashion design. It's really just for fun, though; she enjoys doing it. Plus, she can design at home and then whenever there's an opening or something she'll fly down there. Actually, she leaves in about a week for the opening of the fall line," Draco said. Harry nodded, not knowing anything about the fashion industry and thus not really taking interest in what Draco was saying. "What about your uncle?" Harry froze.

"Uh...like, what he does?" he asked, his voice a bit tense. Draco nodded. "Oh, um...he...he manages a branch of this tool company, Grunnings," Harry answered. Of course, Vernon no longer had a job, but he _used _to manage a part of Grunnings, so Harry figured that was the next best answer.

"_Fascinating," _Draco announced sarcastically, making Harry laugh brightly for the first time today.

"Tell me about it," Harry commented. Ahead of them lay the center of the park, decorated with an ornate fountain, the bottom glittering with coins. Harry had childhood memories of him and Ron coming in the middle of the night and hauling as many quarters out of there as possible before the cops came. He smiled staring at the rippling water. Draco sat down on the edge of the fountain, also staring at the coins at the bottom. Around them park lights began flickering on in the growing darkness, their buzz thrumming throughout the park. Draco looked at his watch.

"I should be getting home to practice," He said. "Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Harry shook his head. There was no _way _he was going to let a kid as obviously rich as Draco find out just how poor he was. Plus, thirteenth district kids didn't exactly have good reputations. Despite Draco rather cocky and arrogant attitude—which had been absent for the last half hour or so—Harry liked the blond.

"No, I'll be fine. Uh...thanks for the coffee, I appreciate it," Harry said, throwing his cup into a nearby trash can. Draco smiled at him.

"Let's make it a Wednesday thing. You come for coffee with me after school every Wednesday, unless one of us is tied up with something school related," the blonde said. Harry paused, considering.

"Um...sure. Sounds great!" It was, after all, a free cup of coffee. He wasn't going to refuse.

"Good." The two began re-tracing their steps until they left the park. Harry stopped at the nearest bus stop and waved to Draco with another smile.

"See ya tomorrow," he called. Draco gave him a wink before turning his back and walking away with his graceful stride. Harry sighed and sat down on the bench, wrapping his arms around him and shivering a bit. It was getting cold fast.

Vernon greeted Harry with a menacing glare when the skinny boy stepped on light feet into the apartment. Without a word Harry slid into his closet room and set his bag down. He unpacked his dance stuff and laid it on the floor so it could breathe a bit and his sweaty shoes could dry, and he took his homework out and moved with it to the bed, reaching for a pencil. He heard Vernon rummaging through the fridge and then go back into his room and turn the TV on. Noise carried straight through the wall but Harry just shook his head, blocking the violent noises with practiced ease as he went over his chemistry work for the night.

This was the first time he had actually tried to do his homework. At the Hell Hole homework hadn't mattered. Teachers didn't look at it, and your grades only reflected how much profanity you used or how many insults you yelled out in class. The higher grades, meaning there were few insults, normally went hand-in-hand with lots of bruises from the kids with low grades. As his pencil flew over the pages of review work, Harry wondered how Ron's first day of school was. He wondered if Ron even _went_. Last year the two had skipped the first week together, along with Fred and George. All four of them had received in-school detention, and a fierce reprimand from Molly Weasley. Vernon just beat the shit out of Harry when he found out, although Harry didn't think the beating really had anything to do with missing school.

Smiling at the memory, and not knowing why, Harry continued with the monotony of his work until Vernon starting yelling for dinner. The black-haired boy quickly answered his last algebra question and put his homework back in his backpack, completed.

"Fucking _now_, bitch!" Vernon roared, spurring Harry to burst out of his room.

"Shut up! I'm working on it!" He was careful not to swear at his uncle, and not to put too much malice in his voice. He couldn't afford another beating now, not when he was dancing everyday. Not when his muscles were already sore and tight. Remembering Madam Pomfrey's warning, Harry made an extra sandwich so he could have a normal portion of dinner. It was risky, and directly clashed with the idea _not _to get hit tonight or for the rest of the week, but he refused to be sent to...Mr. Black, or whatever his name was.

Harry dished up a plate for Vernon and took it into his uncle's room, setting it on the small table and leaving without a word. His own meal was put in a sandwich bag as Harry went to his room to grab a sweatshirt. He put his light windbreaker over it, shoved his food into the pocket, grabbed his skateboard and left the apartment, heading for the Weasley's bakery. The streetlights no longer worked on his street, or any street near it. Most of the bulbs had been smashed by well-aimed rocks and a plethora of other objects, and the few bulbs that _were_ physically intact flickered due to unsolved wiring problems. The result was a constant strobe effect, throwing shadows around while at the same time chasing them away. Harry immediately pulled the knife he carried in his jacket pocket into his right hand, his green eyes piercing through the darkness for a sign of an attacker. He shouldn't be out here. This was really dangerous.

Harry let out a breath of relief as the murmur of voices from the main street reached his ears and the street lights stopped flickering to shine a steady orange on the people going about their illegal activities. He skated to the back door of the shop and knocked on the door lightly, clutching his skateboard in one hand. Aurthur answered it, first opening it just enough to peek through the crack and recognize Harry before opening the door wider.

"Harry, come on in, kiddo!" he said with a smile. Harry nodded his head in thanks, setting his board down in it's customary spot right inside. He found that Ginny was the only Weasley child around at the moment as the boys were off with Dean and Seamus. The black-haired teen fought down his disappointment and went upstairs to see Ginny. The red-haired girl was sitting on the floor in her room, homework spread in front of her. She looked up with a bright smile as Harry entered the room.

"Harry! How was your first day of school?" she asked eagerly. Harry shrugged.

"So-so. It's a lot of work; I'm already sore," he answered vaguely, sitting down and pulling his pre-prepared dinner from his pocket. Ginny nodded her head in sympathy. "How was your day?" Harry asked out of politeness.

"Shitty. Waste of time. Boring. Yeah," she said flatly. "Ron only went for the first three periods—he skipped out after lunch."

"Does Molly know?"

"Of course not."

"So what's Ron doing right now?"

"Oh, the usual," Ginny answered, writing something down on her paper. "They're out with the gang getting ice cream; I hung around to help clean up the shop. Plus, Cho said she couldn't make it and I didn't want to hang with all the guys without her there." She grinned. Harry took a bit from his plain sandwich, feeling horribly left out. Every year the group went out for ice cream after the first day of school; this was the first time Harry hadn't been with them. He finished his sandwich in silence, simply watching Ginny fill out her homework.

"You wouldn't happen to know if Ron is still mad at me, would you?" Harry asked quietly as Ginny shoved her homework into her worn backpack.

"You know Ron, Harry. He can never stay angry at you for long. I mean, he's confused as hell about you...but then again, I think we all kind of are," she said, looking back up and making eye contact with him. Harry looked away. "He's learned to accept that you're different from him, but it doesn't mean he understands the whole thing," she continued after a moment of awkward silence. "You know, instead of moping about here, you could go catch up to them at the ice cream place. They're probably still there." Harry's head snapped up.

"You think?" Ginny laughed, grabbing a coat on the floor near her and standing up.

"Sure. I'll come with you. Ice cream sounds kind of nice right now." Harry finished his sandwich and stood up, smiling. The two tramped down the stairs, Harry grabbed his skateboard, and they left side by side. The ice cream place, nicknamed 'iScream' by the frequenters of the shop, was about five blocks away from the Weasley's. It was small, shabby, the owners were bitchy, and the ice cream sucked, but it was still a favorite place for anyone with a bit of extra money in their pockets. Ginny jogged after Harry and the two made good time, effectively warding off the chill in the air with their strong pace. Like Ginny said, Ron, Fred, George, Seamus, and Dean were still there. All five looked up with smiles when Harry and Ginny entered the shop.

"Harry! Glad you showed up, man, this isn't the same without you here," Ron said, patting Harry on the back as the black-haired teen sat down. Seamus shoved a half-eaten ice cream cone into his hand, making vague motions that he could finish it. As always, Seamus didn't look entirely sober, and the two boys shared a look before Harry tore his gaze from the young junkie. Ginny joined the group after buying ice cream for herself.

"So...tell us about your day at rich-kid central," Dean asked. Harry raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"Who told Dean that I was going there?" he asked, looking around to the rest of his friends. Ron looked slightly guilty.

"Well, c'mon! It's _Dean, _you couldn't have kept it from him anyway," the redhead reasoned. Harry just shrugged. It was true that keeping the information from Dean wouldn't have worked. Dean, and Seamus for that matter, hung around with them all the time. And Harry's absence from the Hell-Hole would be missed after a week or so.

"It's fine, Ron. I just really, really can't have Vernon find out."

"You're trying to keep that kind of info from your uncle? He doesn't _know_?" Dead asked incredulously. Harry bit his lip and nodded.

"Pretty much. He kinda said he wouldn't let me go...and...yeah. It's not as if I'm gonna give a scholarship like that up just because he told me to, though. So I'm going, and fuck him," the black-haired boy said firmly. The group smiled.

"Good attitude, Harry. Anyway, how was your first day?" George asked.

"It was...good. I'm really sore though; dancing several hours per day is kinda taxing. The teachers are amazing—like, they actually seem to care—and the kids are nice, for the most part," Harry looked away from the twin's doubtful stare, "The relationship the students have with each other is so different. There really aren't any designated groups...everyone's friends with everyone. I mean, the really rich kids hang together kind of a lot, I guess, but the kids I sat with at lunch were all so different...and yet they're great friends," Harry said. The kids sitting around him looked confused.

"Does that even _work_? Like, with hanging out with kids who aren't similar to you?" Ron asked. Harry shook his head, a grin on his face.

"That's the thing, you don't _have _to hang out with kids who are like you! You can hang out with anyone!" he exclaimed.

"And they don't beat the shit out of you?" Dean asked. Harry smirked.

"No. How awesome is that?" Fred looked thoughtful.

"I would think that would make it hard to find your niche at school, though. With groups you always know where you'll fit in, and at the art school if there are no groups....then how do—"

"You don't need to fit in," Harry broke in. "There are so many types of kids there...everyone just kind of meshes together and makes one big group. Like, the artsy group. That's what all two hundred kids make up."

"That's unfathomable," Ginny stated, and the boys agreed.

"That's weird," Seamus commented. Harry just smiled at them.

"It's _awesome_," he stated, his smile widening.

"Well, if anyone gives you a hard time, let us know and we'll beat the fuck out of 'em," Ron said with a scowl.

"Oh yeah, that would go over _real_ well," Harry commented sarcastically. Dean snorted.

"Bunch of pussies."

"So...how was your guys' day?" Harry asked, steering the topic away from him and the School of the Arts. George grinned.

"You would not _believe _what we did..." Harry smiled in anticipation, absentmindedly licking Seamus' ice cream and thinking how nice it was to be back among familiar people after his first day of school.

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Thanks for reading. Please let me hear (read) your thoughts on the story!

Wykkyd


	7. Tough Luck

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or associated characters and plot-lines.

**A/N: **Thanks for all the great feedback for the last chapter! For those anonymous reviews that keep popping up...I'll reply to you if you leave an email!

I haven't made any decisions about whether or not to post my other stories. I'm still considering, I guess. Enjoy this chapter, though!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Tough Luck**

Harry was just as nervous _after _his first ballet class as he had been _before _it. He was now waiting for all the students in his class to put pants over their tights and a shirt over their leotard—in the girls' case—and then file out of the studio. Harry was pretty sure the teacher, Madam Trelawney, was legally insane, but it wasn't hard to recognize her brilliance.

When most of the students had left the room and the next class' members began stretching out, Trelawney waved Harry over into a small office, entered by a door on the other side of the studio. She gracefully moved around her desk and sat down, rifling through the papers strewn about across the surface. Mixed in with them there were dried apple cores, half-eaten chocolate bars, pointe shoe ribbons, band-aids, and an assortment of odd things. The rest of the office was just as disorderly; boxes of dance shoes were stacked in a teetering pile in one corner, an eclectic mix of books lined one shelf, and there were small figurines on every other free surface. Harry brought his attention back to his instructor to find that she was looking at a piece of paper. The name on it did not read 'Harry Potter', as he had expected, but the name of another student in the school. She looked up suddenly, taking the pair of glasses that hung around her neck and putting them on. Her eyes were magnified almost comically.

"Oh yes, Harry. Of course. I...wanted to talk to you!" Harry nodded slowly, glancing at an ornate clock on the wall. He really had to get to his next class. "I wanted to talk to you about...dance. Ballet! The most amazing form of movement..." she became distracted, and Harry cleared his throat. "Ah yes...you have talent, Mr. Potter. Bit on the skinny side...but talent! Genius! I have not had a pupil with so much talent since...Darcy left. Oh Darcy..." Madam Trelawney trailed off for a moment before continued. "Alas, you do not have the skill to be in my class." Harry's heart plummeted to his stomach, his breath catching. "But it's nothing to worry about," _Uh...yes it is..._ "I only wish to move you to the freshmen class until you catch up. I believe you will improve quickly in a less challenging environment, and after...one quarter, say, we'll have you right back in here!" she said with a large smile. Harry nodded silently. "So! You will have ballet the same period—why confuse you further?—although it will be in the first dance studio, just down the hall. I will inform the sub teacher after my next class and you can start with them tomorrow. Okay?" she asked, smiling. Harry just nodded silently, feelings of inadequacy choking him. It wasn't as if he disagreed with Madam Trelawney: he knew he wasn't going to be able to keep up with his class. Still...being demoted to the freshman's class was going to be extremely embarrassing. "You're welcome to leave," Trelawney said, motioning to the door. Harry turned on his heel and all but ran out of the room. He changed out of his dance shirt and pants, shoving all his dance gear into his bag haphazardly and running out of the room. He was late for world history.

...

"Everything okay, Harry? You seem a bit...off," Hermione asked kindly as the two were walking to lunch. Harry shrugged.

"Trelawney put me in with the second period freshman class," he stated flatly. It wasn't as if he was going to be able to keep that information from circulating anyway. Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"Well, she must have had a reason, right?" she asked. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide when she realized what she had insinuated. "I didn't mean that! I swear!" Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"No, I know what you meant. She said I didn't have the skill for her class, and so she wanted to move me down a year and then move me back after I've caught up a bit."

"Well, that's not bad at all!" Hermione said with a smile. Harry looked at her incredulously. "I mean, it's not like it will be for the whole year. And I move into second period ballet in a quarter, so we'll be in the same class!" she exclaimed.

"Why are you moving?" Harry asked.

"My mother's the English teacher I have now, and I know most of the stuff in this course. McGonagall said she would move me to English Eleven after the end of this quarter, but then there's a whole bunch of complications with my schedule and I'll have to switch ballet classes." The two stopped at Hermione's locker, and after she had grabbed her lunch they moved to Harry's. He shoved his bag into the small space and pulled out a half sandwich. He caught Hermione eying it. "Harry, you need to eat—"

"Don't even start, Hermione. Please," Harry begged, cutting her off.

"Harry, I'm sorry but you don't—" Harry shook his head and slammed his locker shut, walking down the hall away from the girl. "Harry!" she yelled, but he didn't turn around. The black-haired boy jogged down the stairs, greeting several familiar faces in the hall, and walked toward the doors leading out of the school. He had forgotten to take his jacket with him, but he wasn't about to go back and get it. The air outside was cool, but there was no wind chill to make things unbearable. Harry took a look at the fairly smashed sandwich in his hand. Two thin pieces of bread with a slice of turkey in it and butter. With a bitter role of his eyes he slammed his lunch into a garbage bin as his walked by it, shoving his hands into his pockets after.

"Harry!" a voice called out behind him. He turned around to find Doug jogging to catch up to him.

"Hey, Doug," Harry greeted.

"Hermione said—"

"Don't even _start_," Harry demanded, walking on. Doug moved to walk beside him.

"Start with what? All she said was that you seemed kind of pissed off at her," Doug said. Harry shrugged.

"It's complicated."

"Well, she's feeling really bad now," Doug stated. Harry stopped and turned towards the dark-skinned boy.

"Look, no offense, but I just need to be alone right now," he said flatly, not leaving much room for argument. Doug just rolled his eyes.

"Stop being a drama queen and tell me about, then," he demanded. Harry rolled his eyes.

"What is with the 'tell me about it' attitude that..._everyone _has here? Can't people _ever _keep things to themselves?" Harry asked, his voice rising. Doug seemed unfazed.

"Harry, in a small school where everyone deals with everyone, it's not a good idea to pull a solo act, if you get what I mean. People don't appreciate that. Most of the time kids just talk their problems through with friends and then they move on. It keeps grudges from forming and generally works everything out. People want to help, here," Doug explained. Harry shook his head.

"So any time I have a thought I have to share it?" he asked coldly. Doug sighed.

"Harry, what's _wrong_?" Doug pursued.

"I don't get this school! Like, I meet you....what? Yesterday? And you're acting like were best friends! Kids at this place are so...open, so friendly with each other. You don't discriminate, you don't form groups, you don't exclude people. Why? _All _people do that! There are _no _exceptions," Harry exclaimed, running his right hand through his hair and leaning against the stone wall of a building.

"Harry? What was your old school like?" Doug asked softly.

"Not like this one, that's for sure," Harry said with a humorless laugh. "Now really, I just need some space. No offense, Doug." This time, Doug let him walk off.

...

"Did you catch up with Harry?" Neville asked Doug when he joined their group around a table in the school's cafeteria. Doug nodded.

"He said he needed some space." Justin raised his eyebrows.

"Did he say what was bothering him?" Doug laughed.

"No. Look guys, Harry isn't used to this school yet. He doesn't understand why everyone wants to talk with him or help him. I don't think he's used to talking problems through, even if they are small. He said he didn't get why kids here are so comfortable with each other, so friendly and willing to help. I think his old school was kinda rough." Hermione sighed.

"Had he at least gotten something more to eat?" she asked.

"Nope. Content to eat like a bird!" Doug said with a smile. The kids around the table glared at him. "I was joking, guys." Doug held up his hands in defeat, a grin on his face. Justin chucked a half-apple at him, hitting the black-haired boy right in the middle of his forehead. "Don't start a food fight again, Justin. We all know what happened last time."

...

For Harry, the day went from bad to worse after lunch. Before the School of the Arts, dancing had been a convenient stress-relieving event. Now, it was just the opposite. Ballroom dancing turned out worse than anything he had imagined. While the waltz step was simple enough, leading a girl around the floor was a completely different story. Fifth period dragged by in a series of stepping on people's toes, having his own toes crushed, and running into other dancers on the floor. However, the rest of the class wasn't as advanced as Harry had figured, so there wasn't such a large gap between their ability and his. Still, the gap was plenty large enough for him.

And after ballroom was chemistry. Professor Snape was no kinder today than he had been yesterday. Harry discovered his lab partner was a complete moron, and he ended up taking the blame for a plethora of mishaps at their station. The black-haired teen's anger slowly faded to apathy, and Snape's furious face near his chemistry station became common over the period. When the bell rang Snape called for Harry and Josh, Harry's lab partner, to stay behind.

"For your idiocy during my class, you will be washing beakers. Neither of you have a seventh period today?" Harry nodded silently, confirming the statement.

"No, but I have work in forty minutes," Josh said.

"Very well, best get to work, then." Harry sent a glare towards Josh who shrugged in return, and the two began gathering dirty beakers to clean. Half an hour later sixty beakers were laid out on the counter, drying. Forty-two of them were sparkling, and eighteen of them were wet but no better off than they had been when the two started. Snape eyed their work with a disdainful eye.

"I have to get to work, Professor," Josh said quietly.

"I'm sure," Severus drawled. "Potter here can re-do your work," he finished. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Snape and he snapped it shut. Josh mouthed a 'sorry' to Harry and fled the room. Snape looked back to his student who was staring at the floor. "I think...that we shall have to arrange for a different lab partner, Mr. Potter," Snape said slowly. Harry barely suppressed the relieved grin that was aching to spread over his face as he turned to re-wash Josh's beakers. "And leave those, I'll finish them up later." Harry hesitated. He really didn't mind the work—especially now that he knew Snape didn't think it was him who had ruined their lab today—and the washing meant he didn't have to go back to thirteenth district just yet.

"I....I don't mind finishing them, sir," Harry whispered, his eyes looking at the beakers. Snape stared at him for a long moment.

"Fine with me. Don't break any," the man said, turning on his heel and moving back to his desk. Harry smiled at his teacher's demeanor and turned back to the sink.

Severus watched the boy as he worked, noticing the small details he always noticed. Harry Potter was an average academic student, but not an average boy. He stayed silent, did not shift or fidget in his seat, moved with careful precision. He wasn't afraid of work or getting dirty, and he seemed genuinely willing to learn. Severus sighed. Children like Mr. Potter were the sole reason the Professor kept teaching, although children like that were rare. Still, when they came along, they were worth it.

Twenty minutes later Harry had finished the beakers, taking time to dry them with a towel and store them back on their respective shelves, fold the towels he used, rinse the sink out an extra time and wipe down the counter. Severus would have accused the boy of sucking up to him, but Harry never once glanced to him as if seeking approval.

"See you tomorrow, Professor," Harry said quietly as he grabbed his chemistry textbook and slid out the door. Severus gave him a nod and went back to grading.

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Thanks for reading everyone! Leave me a note, please!

Wykkyd


	8. Deeper Down

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or associating characters and plotlines. Credit goes to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **Ug...I am very uninspired to write all of a sudden. Still, I do like this chapter. Enjoy!

**

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**

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Deeper Down**

Harry sank down on his mattress with a small moan. His bag lay on the floor next to him, unpacked. Next to that there was a stack of textbooks so he could study for several tests tomorrow.

His head was pounding and his muscles were even tighter than they had been yesterday; they would probably remain that way until Sunday. Vernon wasn't home, and normally Harry would get out of the apartment, but he didn't feel like dealing with people.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Harry said, falling backwards and staring at the paint peeling off the closet ceiling. Life at school was...different. Almost too different. He didn't need Hermione counseling him on poor eating habits, and he certainly didn't need Doug trying to play shrink and talk about 'problems' with him. Was _nothing_ personal at Hogwarts?

Harry rolled over with a frustrated groan, shifting away from the mattress spring that was stabbing his stomach. The phone rang in the kitchen, but Harry made no move to go answer it. The message machine turned on and Ron's voice was heard throughout the apartment. _Hey Harry, doin' anything tonight? Me and Ginny might go up to the skate park. You should come. Uh...if you're there...pick up...come on..._Harry got up, opened his door and walked over to the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here, Ron," he said.

"_Oh, sweet. You wanna come to the skate park_?"

"I kinda have a lot of homework," Harry said.

"_Dude, we haven't gone to the park in ages_!"

"How about tomorrow?"

"_Nope. Mom's got me workin' in the shop tomorrow. We gotta go tonight, man. It'll be fun_."

"I really can't," Harry said seriously. "You guys go; have fun."

"_It's just homework! Say you dropped it in a puddle and need an extension_," Ron suggested.

"This is the Fifth Avenue School of the Arts, Ron. Seriously," Harry deadpanned.

"_Whatever. Next time we're going, you can't give me any lame excuses_." He hung up before Harry could defend himself. The black-haired boy slammed the phone back in it's cradle, leaning on the counter. Several new envelopes caught his eye; mail. The first one was a letter from Marge, Vernon's sister. It had already been opened, so Harry unfolded the letter.

_Vernon dear,_

_I'm going to be in town in three weeks. We'll have dinner—no worries, my treat. I can't wait to catch up. _

_Hope the little hellion hasn't caused too much trouble,_

_Margie _

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Hellion' indeed. Having Marge in town was going to be rough.

The next envelope was unopened, and Harry saw why. It was from Mr. Slughorn, their landlord. He opened the envelope, cringing when a red slip of paper fell out.

_Vernon Dursley,_

_Your rent fee for July is one month and a week overdue. Normally you'd be out of that apartment by now, but I'll give you another month to come up with the money._

_This is your final notice._

_-Slughorn_

There was another piece of paper attached to it, the official bill. The debt was circled with a big black marker: nine hundred and eight dollars. _Fucking bastard, _Harry thought. The apartment wasn't worth half that. Heat and air conditioning barely worked, there wasn't hot water unless you showered at three in the morning, the plumbing system barely functioned, and the power was out often. But this was Slughorn, and as long as people wanted a home, they would pay his exorbitant prices. _Vernon told me he covered July's rent, _Harry remembered, putting the papers back down on the counter. _And August's. _Apparently his uncle had lied.

Feeling three times worse than he had before looking at their debt, Harry began boiling water for pasta. Vernon wouldn't be home until late, so he could eat a proper meal for once.

The phone began ringing again, but Harry didn't pick it up. A woman's voice began recording a message: she was looking for Vernon.

_This sucks. _

...

Even though it was only his third day of school at Hogwarts, Harry already felt the monotony of the year upon him. While his schedule was different every day, one class blurred into the next. He walked down to the park during lunch, this time eating his sandwich although he still refused company. Much of his day was spent in silence with his new friends' worried eyes following his turned back. He ignored their questions in favor of residing in a sudden depression that had consumed him.

Chemistry that day was interesting, but it was the only class besides modern dance where Harry found himself really paying attention. The day passed by slowly and he left school after his seventh period feeling the same way he had felt leaving school the day before.

Ron came over that night and dragged Harry out of the apartment, saying they needed to spend time together.

"So how was your first week?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged and the redhead glared at him. "Harry, what is _up _with you? I can't have a conversation with _myself_!" he exclaimed. Harry snorted, looking a Ron with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously," Ron finished. Harry gave another shrug.

"Sorry, I just...I don't know. I don't feel like doing anything...talking, studying, sleeping, eating, skating, dancing..." Another shrug. Ron stopped walking and looked at him.

"Are you okay? Did anything happen last night?" he asked. Harry shook his head, motioning for Ron to keep walking as he glanced around for anyone watching them too intently.

"No, nothing happened. Vernon was gone," he answered. Ron sighed. This wasn't the first time Harry had fallen into depression; it had happened several times last year, although Ron didn't know what triggered it. Normally it passed in a few days and wasn't anything to worry about, but Harry never did well when he was like this. His weight would drop severely—something Harry couldn't afford right now—and he would become exhausted from not sleeping at night.

"Well, come on then. I told mom you'd be having dinner with us," Ron said.

"I'll be fine—"

"Harry, _I told my mom you'd be having dinner with us_," Ron repeated with a smile. Harry laughed a bit and nodded.

"Fine. Can't disappoint Molly, can I?" Ron smiled with the simple victory, giving Harry a brief one-armed hug. His best friend didn't return it, although he did smile.

Dinner with the Weasleys wasn't unusual for Harry, although he didn't eat with them very often. Molly and Aurthur seemed to completely overlook his lack of appetite and his silence, while Ginny, Ron, and Fred and George shared knowing looks. The four of them took turns gently prodding Harry to eat what Molly gave him, with varying degrees of success.

"So...what are you doing tomorrow?" Ginny asked, trying to stimulate some conversation. Harry looked at her and shrugged.

"I have school until one fifteen tomorrow, but after that I'm not doing anything."

"You have school _tomorrow_?! It's _Saturday_!" Ron exclaimed with a horrified expression on his face. Harry just shrugged again.

"Most of it's kind of free time, I think. I have ballet until eleven thirty and then kind of a dance-whatever-you-want until one fifteen. Pointless if you ask me."

"Skip," Ginny suggested, rolling her eyes at Molly's silent reprimand.

"Ah...no. That will _not _be happening. Not at this school," Fred jumped in, George quickly backing him up. Harry looked at them in confusion.

"Hey, this is your chance, don't ruin it, man," George said.

"I know. I wasn't going to skip anyway," Harry assured them quietly, taking a small bite of his dinner. Molly beamed as she noticed this.

"Sooo...how about that Yankee's game the other day?" Aurthur said slowly, his change of subject ridiculously obvious but also very appreciated. The rest of dinner was spent with small talk as the only conversation, and Harry sat in silence, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate in circles.

Fred and George caught up with him as he was walking back towards the apartment, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to stop. Harry spun around with a vicious glare on his face.

"What do you _want_?" he snapped angrily, lips pursed and eyes flashing. The twins took a step back, sharing a glance, and immediately Harry seemed to deflate. His posture slouched as he shoved his hands back into his pockets, and his eyes dropped to the ground. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Right," George said. "No problem."

"We just thought we'd walk you back; Ron would, but mom made him do dishes," Fred explained. Harry just shrugged as his feet began moving him towards home. The twins followed, one on either side of the black-haired boy. "So, is everything okay, Harry? _Really _okay?"

"I don't know," Harry said softly, rubbing his face with his left hand as if to wake himself up. "Not really, I guess."

"What's up?" George asked. Harry shrugged again. "Harry, this is ridiculous. We all know you can't afford to do this to yourself, not with this whole art school thing."

"Look, you guys, it's not that...bad. I just...I can't seem to focus on anything there! What if...what if dancing isn't my thing? I mean, sure, I like it and everything, but I don't know if I want to spend all year...dancing. And the kids at school...it's so different from the Hell Hole. It's too different, I guess. I feel out of place all the time, like all the kids can look at me and just know that I don't belong there, that I'm this slum kid from Thirteenth and that I'm...not good enough for them, for any of it." Harry paused, but the twins were silent, waiting for their friend to continue. "And then there's Vernon," Harry muttered. "He can't find out, but he's _going _to! And I hate trying to be this perfect kid for him just because I don't want to get hit. What if someone at school found out? What would they _think of me_? And I have to gain a ton of weight, but I don't want to eat too much of Vernon's food and there's no money for me to buy it, and I can't ask other people because it's not like I'm the only one who needs more food...but there's this counselor guy and I don't....I just don't know what I want anymore," Harry finished, looking up at the smog-filled sky. George wrapped an arm around the slim boy's shoulders, pulling him in for a brief hug.

"You want my advice?" Harry nodded. "Focus on school. Just school. Dance, do your homework...all of that. If Vernon finds out, just leave. You can stay with us, Harry, I'm serious."

"But—"

"Harry, it'll be fine. Just focus on school."

"What about the whole food thing?"

"Do what you can, Harry, don't stress over it," Fred said.

"They'll throw me into counseling for...people who don't eat!" Harry exclaimed.

"Counselors are under a million confidentiality contracts: if you tell them anything, they can't repeat it unless you want them to. And Harry, any counselor will half a brain is going to be able to see you're not anorexic."

"Then how am I going to explain this?" Harry said, wrenching his shirt and jacket up to expose his skeletal torso.

"What's so wrong with the truth?" Fred wondered.

"_What? _Are you _kidding_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Who knows, maybe they'll help you. You shouldn't be living with that bastard anyway, _anywhere_ is better than at the apartment you call 'home', besides the streets," George cut in. "And remember, this counselor won't be able to tell anyone unless he asks you first, so you won't have to worry about any of the students there finding out."

"How about it?" Fred asked. Harry was silent for a moment before nodding.

"I guess. I guess it could work," he agreed. The twins clapped him on the back.

"Awesome!" they exclaimed in unison. Harry laughed.

...

Harry considered it a success the next morning when he looked no worse, although admittedly no better, than he had last night. He had even managed to sleep for about six hours, and ate a fairly satisfying breakfast.

He arrived early to school, wanting to take half and hour or so to stretch out his sore muscles and re-focus himself. Doug showed up early as well, slipping into the studio Harry was warming up in.

"How's it goin', Harry?" he asked with a hesitant smile. Harry grinned back.

"I'm alright. Uh...sorry I kind of snapped at you yesterday," he said, looking at his new friend from underneath his bangs. Doug squeezed Harry's shoulder lightly as he set his bag down.

"Don't worry about it. Transferring to this place can be hard, especially if you haven't grown up going to schools like this." Harry nodded, standing up and bending over to place his hands flat on the ground. Doug slid into the splits, groaning as his muscles adjusted to the strenuous position. "So would it be too early to start pressing you for a therapy session again?" Doug asked with a smirk. To his surprise, Harry laughed.

"Therapy session?" he asked lightly, although his eyes were guarded.

"Harry, I may not know you really well or anything, but I can tell you're a little down," Doug said softly, making sure the other dancers in the room wouldn't overhear.

"I'll work it out by myself, Doug. It's no big deal," Harry assured. Doug shook his head, giving Harry a somber stare for a moment before standing up and walking out of the studio to his ballet class down the hall. Harry sat down and turned to the wall-sized mirror two feet behind him, staring at his own face. Green eyes surrounded by a gaunt, pale face stared back. Was he okay? Did he want to do this? Could he_ make _everything be 'fine'?

"Alright class!" Harry's eyes snapped to the teacher's reflection in the mirror. He was someone he hadn't seen before, but this class was composed of the first and second period freshman class, with part of the sophomore class in the studio down the hall. Harry was slightly disappointed his class wasn't with Doug, because as nosy as the boy could be, his cheery smile acted as a calming agent. "Stand up! Grab a barre ladies and gentlemen!" the teacher shouted, sending students running across the room, still donning warm-up clothing. Harry took a spot towards the back, closing his eyes for a moment and inhaling deeply. _Focus on school. Focus on dance. _

* * *

Thank you ALL so much for the amazing comments and reviews! To the anonymous **Login? Never!, **I really, really appreciate all your reviews. Thanks a million!

Let me know how you liked this chapter! I need inspiration.

Wykkyd


	9. A Day In The Life

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter and associated characters or plotlines.

**A/N: **Haha....*sheepish* I'm really sorry that I kinda dropped off the face of the earth. Got to do the whole back-to-school thing and it was c r a z y!! I'm so busy with all my homework that it's _really _hard to find time to write, but I wanted to post something because I found a few minutes to write it out and edit it, and then I wanted to let you all know I'm not dead!

I'm sorry that I didn't reply to all your lovely reviews for last chapter. I've just had so much work to do. I'll keep trying to reply to your comments, but it might not be as consistent as I would like. Still, I do appreciate your reviews—they have been charming, flattering, helpful, inspiring, humorous, and amazing! Thank you all so much!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**A Day in the Life...**

Draco walked into his house, closing the large double doors behind him softly. A plump woman dressed in black and white came bustling out of a room down the hallways, a bright smile on her face.

"How was school, dear?" she asked, her tone motherly. Draco shrugged, slipping off his shoes and setting his violin case down to give the maid a hug.

"Same as always, Melinda. You know," he said.

"Want anything to eat?" Melinda asked.

"Fruit sounds nice right now," he said and she moved back into the kitchen. "You can bring it into my room," Draco called after her, grabbing his violin case and taking a left into another hall which led to a staircase. Melinda had been the Malfoy's maid since Draco was a small child; she had just as much a hand in raising him as Narcissa, if not more. While Draco would never admit it to any of his friends, he loved the overbearing woman's company and cheery smiles. She wasn't the most intelligent of women, but she could cook and clean, cared about Draco's family, and was always willing to advise the teen boy. Draco was able to talk to Melinda in way he would never converse with his seemingly indifferent mother.

Narcissa was a woman entirely opposite of Melinda, yet the two were fast friends. Narcissa was slim, elegant and reserved, her interactions with everyone professional and precise. Beyond the cold exterior, however, Draco's mother loved and cared for her family deeply.

Draco opened the door to his room and stepped in, tossing his violin case lightly on his bed. He emptied his backpack, putting textbooks and homework in a neat pile on his carefully organized desk, and separating sheet music he needed to practice from music he did not on two separate music stands. Next he unzipped his violin case, removing the instrument and the bow and setting them on the bed.

He had a traditional routine he went through every day after school. Come home, give Melinda a hug, request a snack, unpack his backpack and violin, change into more casual clothes, eat, and then practice for two hours. On certain days this gave him enough time to get a half and hour of homework in before dinner, and then afterwards he would complete his work and go back to practicing. The schedule was often interrupted by Blaise and Pansy, and it normally fell through on Saturdays, but the consistent nature of it helped Draco focus on his work. And because he was focused on his work, his father wouldn't complain about Draco playing a 'girls' instrument'.

Melinda knocked softly on his door just as Draco replaced his collared shirt for a simple sweatshirt.

"Come in," he granted and the cheery woman opened the door, moving quickly into the room and placing a tray of fruit on his desk.

"I brought you an assortment, and a glass of mineral water—no ice." She winked at him.

"Thank you, Melinda. Is my father home, by any chance?" Draco asked. The maid looked confused for a moment.

"Of course not, dear. He gets off work at six thirty on Saturdays," she answered. Draco nodded.

"I know," he said with a sigh. "Just wondering, I suppose."

"Alright then, do you need anything else?" Melinda asked.

"No," Draco answered, picking up his bow and tightening the hairs.

"Keep the door open, I love to hear you play," Melinda reminded him on her way out. Draco felt a smile growing on his face—she had been telling him that since he was six years old. He did as she asked—left the door open—sifted through his sheet music until he had a rough order of practice sections, and started in on scales and arpeggios.

...

Harry walked out of the studio, sweaty and hot, his bag slung over his left shoulder. Doug had asked him to meet up with him after classes ended, so Harry entered the second studio, scanning for his friend. Doug waved him over from a group of kids, calling out to him.

"Harry, come meet a few kids!" Harry obediently walked across the room, his bare feet making no noise on the hardwood floors. He approached the group with a lopsided smile, offering a small wave. "Guys, this Harry, new kid...Harry, this is Annie, Curt, Emily, Robbie, and Matt." Also with the group was Hermione, who gave him a wink.

"Hi," Harry said in his quiet voice.

"How was class?" Hermione asked him with a smile. Harry shrugged. Class had been alright, although he was still the worst and it was...frustrating. How was he supposed to catch up to these kids if he was in the same classes as them? They'd be improving, he'd be improving...there was no way he could improve _faster _then them with hardly any dance experience.

"It was alright," he answered, dropping his gaze.

"Hey," the boy Harry thought was Matt broke in, "don't get too hung up on being with the freshies. It's more common than you think." Harry looked up, trying to keep a glare off his face. Matt seemed to catch his thoughts anyway, and he held up his hands. "Sorry, but it's not a secret that you were moved. We've all heard it from several different people. But like I said, don't worry about it." Harry just shrugged. _Yeah right, _he thought scathingly. Like he was going to be able to 'not worry' about being the worst in the class.

"Anyway, we were just talking about going to see a movie after changing and stuff. Do you want to come?" Hermione asked with a kind smile. Harry looked away uncomfortably, weighting his options. He didn't have any money on him and he was planning on hanging with Ron today, but on the other hand he needed to make friends at school too. Maybe he could borrow money from someone...

"I would, but I didn't bring any money with me," he mentioned.

"No problem, I'll buy your ticket," Doug offered right away.

"Uh...thanks, then. I'll pay you back on Monday," Harry said.

"Forget it, it's only five bucks," his friend said, grabbing his bag off the floor and shouldering it. The group moved out of the studio, splitting up at the locker rooms so each could change out of their dance attire. The boys chose to forgo showers, simply changing into jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, or hoodies, cramming their feet back into sneakers and leaving the room. Harry slid unnoticed into a stall and stripped quickly, pulling ragged jeans over his legs, a worn t-shirt onto his torso, and a hoodie over that for a bit of warmth.

The cinema was only a short walk from Hogwarts, as most people called it now, and Harry was glad because there was a bitter wind blowing through his clothes. He wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to keep warm, laughing it off when Hermione reprimanded him for not wearing proper outdoor gear.

True to his word, Doug bought Harry's ticket, and the group filed into the theater, taking a row of seats in the middle. Harry scanned the theater once for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, and then allowed himself to relax into his seat, enjoying the comfortable plush with aching muscles. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

...

Harry stepped off the bus, his bag slung over his shoulder. He had manage to evade all the offers of a ride home, spouting a plethora of lies that didn't fool either Doug or Hermione. They didn't question him about it, something which Harry was infinitely happy about. As he began the walk to his uncle's apartment, someone shouted his name. Recognizing the accent, Harry looked up and gave a wave to Seamus.

"Heya, Harry," Seamus greeted, linking arms with his friend.

"Hi, Seam," Harry replied softly, his face barely mustering a smile. The Irish boy rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah, Ron said you were doing the whole depressed thing right now." Harry scowled...Ron made it sound as if he did this on purpose. Like he _wanted _it. Seeing the unhappy expression, Seamus wrapped Harry in a quick hug, kissing his forehead. Harry squirmed.

"I'm not a little kid, you know," he snapped.

"I know you aren't, Harry. But you do need to relax. Maybe _pretend _you're a little kid for a while." Harry snorted.

"Yeah, and get fucking knifed, Seam. That's brilliant."

"Right...nevermind. Anyway...you don't happen to want in on—"

"_No_. I'm out. I got out, and I'm staying out," Harry said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Seamus unlinked their arms.

"Positive? I'm asking you because it's good..."

"Dammit, Seamus! I'm _done _with that! I'm _out_. I'm old enough to look after myself; I don't—"

"'Look after yourself'?" Seamus sneered. "Harry, take a fucking _look _at yourself. You're skin and bones, you look tired, pale as a coke addict, and you still think you're taking _care _of yourself. Wake the fuck up, Harry, you need to get a grip if you're trying to get out here. That fancy-ass school needs you to be _healthy_, even _I _know that," the Irish boy exclaimed. Harry shrank away from him, his back turned until Seamus stopped talking. Then he turned around, eyes blazing.

"Fuck you, Seamus. What the hell would you know about taking care of yourself?" Harry snapped.

"Honestly? I'm doing better than you are. I ask for help when I need it."

"I'm not leeching off of other people!" Harry yelled. Seamus raised his fist, glaring, and punched Harry in the jaw. _Hard_. The black-haired boy stagged back until he collapsed against the wall of a building, holding the side of his face.

"Wake _up_, Harry! You think you're so above me, above _us_," Seamus waved his arm behind him, and Harry's eyes looked at the people on the streets, begging, whoring themselves, selling drugs, "Well guess what? You _aren't _above us, you _aren't _above asking for help. Stop being so stupid." With a final look, Seamus spun on his heel, staggered a bit until he regained his balance, and walked away. Harry didn't move but to hold his bag closer to his chest and lie his head down on it, trying to hold back tears. He didn't think he was...above anyone, did he? Was he acting like that?

Seamus wasn't the first to point it out. Ron had done it, Ginny had done it, even Cho. Harry's eyes squeezed shut as saltwater leaked through them, dripping down his face as his shoulders began to shake. A cold wind blew through the streets, rattling aluminum cans and blowing trampled-on fliers about. When Harry noticed he couldn't feel his fingers or toes, he stood up and ran to his apartment, tears still streaming from his eyes.

The apartment door was locked, and as Vernon refused to give Harry the key, the boy was forced to bang on it for five minutes before his uncle unlocked it from the inside. The activity gave Harry time to call down and collect himself, dry the tears on his face, and take any excess stress out on the door while he slammed his fists into it.

"What the fuck do you want, boy?" Vernon yelled when Harry slipped into the apartment. A beefy fist lashed out and caught Harry's shoulder, but Harry dodged the next punch aimed at him and dashed into his room, slamming the door hard enough to shake the wall. A female voice came to his attention, coming from Vernon's room, and Harry shuddered as he recognized the sultry banter of a prostitute. At least she was distracting Vernon for time being.

A wave of exhaustion overcame him, and Harry set his bag down without unpacking it, crawling into his bed and crushing his face against the lumpy mattress. His under-stuffed pillow went over his head in an attempt to keep the moans and cries in the Vernon's room from reaching his ears, and he pulled the ragged sheet and blanket around his shivering body before he drifted off to sleep.

Harry awoke as someone's foot crashed into his back, pinning him to the bed and jarring the rogue spring enough to poke into Harry's stomach. He hissed in pain as the pillow was ripped away from his head and his uncle grabbed his hair, yanking on it and pulling his face away from the bed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in bed? I want my fucking dinner, _now_," Vernon spat, bending close enough to Harry's ear so the teen could feel spit flying onto the side of his face. His hair was yanked harder, and he struggled to get away from his uncle, but the foot in his back prevented this. "Clarice will be staying for dinner, so you'd _better _do a good job of it." Vernon gave another jerk on Harry's hair as he picked his foot up. The result was to throw Harry out his bed, and he in a heap on the ground. "_NOW_!" Vernon yelled, his foot lashing out to catch Harry's ribs once more for good measure. The teen curled up on the floor, his hands over his head, and only relaxed when he heard Vernon leaving the room.

With extreme caution Harry walked out of his room, looking around the connected 'living room' and kitchen for his uncle. The large man wasn't in sight, but a tall, too-thin blonde was leaning against one of the counter tops. Her overly-large breasts were almost hanging out of a tight top that left little to the imagination, and her legs were uncovered, a pink thong the only thing on her lower half. Harry looked away in disgust, moving to the fridge while wracking his brain for dinner ideas. He could feel Clarice's gaze on him as he pulled vegetables from the fridge and moved to the counter, where he grabbed a knife and began cutting them into smaller pieces for a stir fry.

"What's your name, hun?" she asked, her voice falsely deep and sensual.

"Harry," he replied with a snap in his voice. She laughed.

"No need to be defensive, I was only trying to be nice."

"Where's Vernon?" Harry asked her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shrug.

"Went out for a sec. Some guy called a little while ago and said it was urgent. Slug-something...." she stopped, not caring enough to go further. _Slughorn—fuck_, Harry thought. The man rarely stopped into this part of town, and when he did it was normally pretty serious. Like a renter not paying for several months and ignoring all the notices. "So it's just you and me, hun," Clarice pointed out, walking around the counter and coming over to him. Harry shivered, tense and gripping the knife with white knuckles. "What'cha makin'?"

"Dinner." He tried to shrug away from the prostitute, but she was pressed against his back, her hips resting inches above his own and her breasts shoved into his shoulders. Underneath her tall form he was beginning to feel powerless. "Would you cut it out?" he asked softly, but firmly. She laughed, and he could feel her tossing her hair behind her.

"But we could have so much _fuuun_," she purred, lowering her lips to his left ear.

"Get the fuck off me," Harry commanded, raising the knife. She leaned over, grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the counter in a swift movement. The force of her hand made Harry drop the knife; it skittered across the counter and fell with a clang into the sink. Harry jolted, his head smacking into Clarice's collar bone and the rest of his body moving forward, pressed painfully against the counter. Her hips were gyrating slowly against his ass, moving side to side, then up and down.

"Your uncle won't find out, trust me," she continued, her hands playing around Harry's neck.

"Please..." Harry asked, close to begging. "Don't do this." Hands lifted his shirt as Clarice paid no heed to his pleas, one hand moving lower into his pants, playing with his limp member under the counter. Harry's struggles were weak as he was smashed between the counter and her body, his arms pinned to his sides by Clarice's arms. _Uncle Vernon is going to _kill _me if he sees this_, Harry swore. Loud thumps down the hall inspired more vicious struggles, he bucked his hips against the counter top, crushing her hand. With a vicious hiss she brought her hand out of his pants and and her other out of his shirt, clawing his chest with her nails and leaving red marks. The door to the apartment crashed open and Vernon entered as Clarice spun Harry around and slapped him across the face.

"Disgusting _freak_," she snarled, backing away from him. She turned to Vernon. "Your nephew needs to learn to control his hormones." Harry stood against the counter, his heart pounding out of his chest, his face white with fear save for a red hand print on his cheek.

"I'm not the one molesting underage boys," he snapped, hands shaking. Vernon watched the exchange with an angry face, his fat arm circling the woman's waist.

"I assure you, my love, I will teach the boy a lesson in such. Why don't you wait in the room?" He gave her a firm push toward his bedroom door.

"Don't take too long," she simpered, fluttering her eyelashes. Vernon gave her a smile in return.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Harry had a hard time trying not to vomit as his uncle's tone. The humor faded as soon as Clarice had left the kitchen and Vernon turned towards his nephew. Harry backed away, moving out of the kitchen so as not to corner himself. "Don't you run away from me, boy," Vernon whispered. Harry froze and his uncle approached him. The first strike to his stomach, even though expected, knocked the wind out of him. Harry stumbled back, trying to get his lungs to accept air. A fist hit his face, and Harry hit the door to his room with a crack, coughing.

"Stop, _stop_, uncle," he begged, holding his hands up in front of his face as he collapsed on the floor.

"SHUT _UP_, you piece of SHIT," Vernon screamed, his foot lashing out repeatedly, hitting Harry anywhere he could. Harry choked on his cries, his hands moving to protect his ribs from Vernon's foot; fingers bruising underneath enormous shoes. Vernon stopped soon after Harry was pressed tightly into the corner between the wall and floor, face down on the dirty carpet, tears leaking down his cheeks. "Finish dinner," he snapped, his foot lashing out once more before he stomped away from his nephew and went to join Clarice once more.

Harry didn't move from his cowering position until he heard Vernon shut his door, and even then he moved slowly and cautiously, almost expecting his uncle to come storming at him once more. While lying on the floor, Harry did a mental survey of the damage. His fingers and hands were throbbing, but there wasn't any breakage because he could still move each finger. A few blows had managed to hit his ribs, one hit his stomach, and several move on his shoulders and then hips. He would be sore and bruised tomorrow, which was unfortunate, because he wanted to go to the skate park with Ron and his friends, but he would heal.

Still catching his breath, Harry sat up on his knees and slowly stood, one shoulder braced on the wall for extra support. He managed to hobble back into the kitchen, pick up the knife in aching and stiff fingers, and resume chopping vegetables.

...

Harry finished dinner, served it onto two plates—there was no way he was going to risk eating a meal himself and being punished_ again—_shoved one piece of chicken into his mouth and started in on washing the dishes that had piled near the sink.

Before calling Vernon and Clarice to dinner he put a thin and worn jacket over his shirt and grabbed his skateboard, holding it gingerly so as not to agitate his hands, and opened the door. Feeling a streak of rebellion, Harry screamed "Dinner is _served_!" into the apartment and then slammed the door, running on light feet down the musty, dim hall. He slowed when he emerged into the dingy ally, catching his breath which seemed in short supply after Vernon had kicked his ribs.

"Harry, my boy!" a boisterous voice yelled from the apartment complex. Harry flinched, not expecting the call, and turned with caution to see Horace Slughorn standing in the doorway.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, letting his board drop to the ground and putting one foot on it.

"How have you been?" Harry considered the question. Slughorn had just been talking with Vernon, and if he was still around, there was no way he had missed Vernon screaming at Harry about fifteen minutes ago. Would he say something? Or was he simply after the money Vernon owed him?

"I've been fine, thanks," Harry whispered, just loud enough for the man to hear him. Slughorn nodded with a small smile.

"Of course; it's good to hear. And how's Vernon?"

"Fine," Harry answered automatically. "Did you work out the rent?" he wondered.

"Not yet. You might...remind your uncle from time to time. I'd hate to kick you guys out of here, but I'm running a business here."

"I know, but...can't you...could..." Harry sighed. "Nevermind. It was nice talking."

"Of course," Slughorn professed, disappearing inside his building once more as Harry skated away.

It was fully dark now, the streetlights blaring down in the allies where they hadn't been vandalized into disrepair. The noise of his four wheels rolling over tiny pebbles and pavement blended seamlessly with shouts in the distance and other typical street noises. Harry cut a sharp corner towards the central street in thirteenth district, rocketing down the street while focusing solely on moving. He forgot Slughorn, and rent, and Vernon, and his bruises for several moments as he rolled down the sidewalk, his hair ruffled by the wind. It was freedom...even if only for a few moments.

Not surprisingly, Harry ended up steering himself in Cho's directions when he reached the right area, as he always did when subconsciously seeking comfort. As soon as the pretty Asian girl saw Harry she knew something was wrong. Leaving the man who had been negotiating with her, she went over to her friend.

"Harry, it's good to see you," Cho greeted, wrapping her arms lightly around Harry's shoulders in a hug. Harry flinched, jerking his head up to look at her worried face before glancing away again.

"Hi, Cho," he whispered.

"Oh god, Harry. What are we going to do with you?" Harry's friend said with a sigh, holding his face with her hands and tilting his cheek to better see the red mark. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Cho stared at him for a moment, her eyes becoming glassy. Harry hoped she wasn't going to start _crying_.

"Harry, you really, really need to find someone who cares about you."

"There's lot of people who like me," Harry said defensively.

"Well _duh. _I'm saying you need to _live _with someone who cares about you. Vernon is going to rip you to pieces....What happened tonight? Do you want to talk about it?" Harry shook his head.

"No. I just...came by to say 'hi' I guess."

"Bullshit." Cho put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He withered under her gaze.

"Fine. I came because you...I just wanted....company. I guess. I don't know. I just needed to get away from my uncle and that—"

"And who?" Cho interrupted.

"And Clarice. The whore." Cho snorted.

"Talk about low class. That woman is _abhorrent_." Harry nodded.

"So I learned....She...."

"Oh god, she didn't," Cho said flatly, obviously aware of what Harry was talking about. Harry nodded, his eyes downcast. Cho was on him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and squeezing him. Harry caught a sob coming from her throat and rolled his eyes. Sure, life sucked, but Cho was going a bit overboard. "Harry, I'm _so _sorry. That's _horrible_." Harry shrugged as much as possible in her confining grip.

"It's okay, Cho, really. I mean, nothing happened. It's not like she...forced me to have sex with her." Cho looked up suddenly.

"You know never to have sex with a prostitute if you don't know _for sure _if they're clean, right?" she asked. Harry glared at her.

"Come _on, _Cho. Do you think I'm an idiot?" Her hands went back on her hips.

"I'm just making sure. You never know when it comes to you, Harry," she stated.

"Thanks. I'm glad you think so much of my IQ," Harry said sarcastically. His friend rolled her eyes.

"So, have you had dinner? Fred told me about your 'eating disorder'," she teased, a smug smile on her face. Harry slapped her arm lightly.

"There is _no _'disorder', thanks for asking. But no, I haven't eaten." She nodded at him, poked him in the stomach as if to make sure, and then grabbed his hand, pulling him down the street.

"Great. It's a date," she exclaimed cheerfully, dragging him along.

...

The next day Harry sat in the chilled air, his board pressed between his two hands as he watched George maneuver over a series of ramps. The tall red-head finally messed up a landing, lost his board from underneath his feet and barely managed to not crack his head open on the pavement. Harry stood, read to go over to his friend if George really had been hurt, but the twin just got up slowly, grabbed his board, and began walking towards Harry. The black-haired teen sat down again, setting his board down and placing both feet on it, rolling it back and forth as George sat down next to him, putting his sweatshirt hood back over his head.

"Still sore?" George asked. Harry nodded, holding his hands up for George to see. The red-head's eyes widened when he saw the damage, and he gently took one of Harry's hands in his own.

"Fuck, kid. Have you iced this at all?" Harry shook his head 'no', looking at his hands. They were bruised pretty badly, and swollen, although they didn't hurt if he kept his hand movements slow. George continued to hold Harry's hand in his own, his own fingers running over the normally thin digits. "You can move them all right? Nothing broken?" Harry shook his head once more. "What happened," George demanded, finally letting go of Harry's hand. The black-haired boy shrugged and looked back at the skate park, watching Ron and Fred shove each other off their boards.

"There was some hooker, and she kinda came onto me, and uncle Vernon pretty much walked into the room to see her hand down my pants. It was....bad..." Harry trailed off, his lips lifting into a smile before he burst out laughing. "I mean, he was pissed and everything, but now that I think back on it, it was kinda funny. I mean, I don't even know if _he _did that well last night," Harry exclaimed. George managed a snort, although the mirth didn't reach his eyes by a long shot.

"I don't think I see this in the same light, Harry. Because from my point of view, you were molested by a whore, and then your uncle walks into the room and beats the shit out of you for it. And that's not funny," George said seriously. Harry rolled his eyes.

"George Weasley, I never thought I'd see the day I told you to lighten up," Harry commented. "Now, I am going to tactfully change the subject to....baseball. How about that Sox game the other night?"

"You're worse than my dad."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you will."

"That'd be gay."

"No, it'd be _fun_."

"Fuck you....nonono...forget I said that!"

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I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter, if you care to leave me a note or comment or review. I'll do my best to respond to you!

Thanks for reading,

Wykkyd


	10. The Chemistry Professor

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter or associated characters and plotlines.

**A/N**: Sorry about the delay; I'm still incredibly busy and will be for the rest of the semester. Midterms this week…yay….Thanks so much for all the wonderful and understanding reviews and comments. You guys keep me so inspired! Enjoy this chapter!

EDIT: Re-uploaded the chapter with the quotation marks. I have NO idea why they didn't show up the first time!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**The Chemistry Professor**

After some consideration, Harry decided his weekend had gone well. Aside from the fact that he had fallen into depression before his first week of school ended, was molested and almost raped by a prostitute, beaten pretty badly by his uncle, and only ate one real meal per day, everything was fine.

By Sunday night he had pulled out of his melancholic attitude—with Ron and Ginny's help—gotten a bit of stretching in, and although his ribs and hands still hurt from his beating, his legs were no longer sore from the previous week. On Monday morning he woke up early enough to sneak a small breakfast of stale cereal, begin a few warm up routines, pack his bag for the day, and leave for the bus stop with plenty of time to spare. The crisp morning air refreshed him just enough to feel optimistic about the day. He could do this...despite the odds.

There were only a few students and teachers in the main hall, and Harry was able to move quickly to the next floor. He stowed his bag away in his locker just as the clock at the far end of the hall struck 7:30—he still had a half hour before he had to worry about getting to class. On a whim, Harry grabbed Ginny's iPod—she had loaned it to him last night—and ducked into the second dance studio in the hall. He picked an upbeat soul tune by James Brown and turned the volume up, tapping his foot and swaying a bit until the song picked up and he found the beat. The solid, quick movements he had been dancing since fourth grade came freely to him, in such contrast to all the new steps he had learned on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of last week. Knee drops, the occasional freeze, Charleston rocks...his feet seemed to move as his body followed along in easy time. One song bled into another: a mix of soul, funk, modern hip-hop, rap, and rock, and Harry changed his footwork to match each one.

Harry flipped onto his hands, bracing his elbows against his hip and outside knee in a freeze—legs suspended above him. His right hand, with more than half his body weight on it, spasmed, pain flaring, and Harry crashed to the floor in a heap.

"_Fuck_," he swore as he cradled his hand to his chest. The bruising was still obvious on both hands, and although they were no longer swollen and he could move them with relatively little pain, Harry had discovered that overuse tended to set the injuries back a bit. He shouldn't have spent twenty minutes dancing on them.

"Mr. Potter?" a sharp voice called. Harry jerked upright and, out of habit, pushed himself against the nearest wall. Professor Snape was standing in the doorway, holding two textbooks in his arms and a clipboard in his right hand. "Are you alright?"

The teenager pulled the earbuds out of his ears, looking nervously at his teacher.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked timidly. Snape sneered.

"You're going to be deaf before you graduate at that rate, Potter. I asked if you were hurt or not," he repeated.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Just fell." Harry tried to move his hands out of his professor's line of sight. Snape just glared and entered the studio, his shoes tapping ominously on the black dance floor as he moved.

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Potter," he commanded, "and stand up." Harry jumped to his feet, leaning back into the wall once more when colorful spots clouded his vision for a moment. Snape appeared unaware. "What would you be doing here so early?" Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"If there is _one_," Harry jumped, the word spat so venomously that he looked into Snape's eyes, "answer that I dislike the _most_, it is 'I don't know'. Do you not have any memory of this morning, Potter, or are you simply too stupid as to _not care_ that you are here?" Harry began edging away from the man who towered over him, glowering.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Answer the question."

"I'm sorry! I was...I just wanted to warm up before school started. That's all. I didn't think it...that it wasn't allowed," Harry stammered out, making up a quick lie as his gaze nervously flicked from his own feet to his teacher's feet ten inches away from him. To Harry's surprise, Snape sighed.

"It is not against any rule to come to school early," Harry looked up with a small smile, "However, the first person to get here—Albus, the headmaster—arrives at six, so if you arrive earlier you will find yourself locked out for an amount of time. And if you ever...need a place to sit an study for a time before school, my classroom is always available."

"Really?" Harry asked, his smile growing just a bit.

"Really," Snape drawled sarcastically, his tone hardening once more. "I only ask that you knock before entry, and that you do not enter _at all _if I am not in the room." Harry put his head down again, still smiling. "Now, let me see your hands."

"It's fine, sir," Harry said, his hands behind his back.

"Then let me see them," Snape pressed. Harry shrank away.

"Really, they're _fine_," he repeated. The professor glared.

"Let. Me. See. Them," he snarled. Harry flinched and his hands flew out in front of him, looking as if they were ink-stained and colored on with a green marker that wouldn't wash off. Snape did not focus on the boy's hands for several moments, preoccupied with Harry's face. Harry had turned his head as far to the left as he could, his eyes snapping tightly shut for a second before they flashed open and stared blankly at the floor. With a scowl, Snape turned his attention to the rigid hands trembling in front of him. "What on earth did you get yourself into?" he demanded.

"I fell. On my skateboard."

"I see." Harry chanced a look up at his professor to see if he bought the lie. "Perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey, then?" Harry nodded.

"Sure. I'll stop by her office..."

"How about now? I'll escort you," the professor offered.

"Um...that's okay, you don't have to," Harry said frantically.

"Come on boy, I'll have no more of your lies," Snape spat. He noticed his student flinched once more at the word 'boy'. Wide green eyes looked up.

"It's not a lie! I honestly fell!" he proclaimed. Snape raised one eyebrow.

"I wasn't talking about _that_ comment...but now that you mention it..." The professor, waved an arm to get Harry to follow him out of the room, satisfied once he heard soft footsteps behind him. He had believed the boy when he'd said that he fell; if he had fallen on his hands, the bruising was quite probable. But when accused of lying, instead of defending the statement about the nurse, Harry defended the statement about the origin of the bruising. Well...that made two lies, then. Snape quickened his pace, Harry practically running to keep up with his long strides. "You will tell me exactly how you got those bruises," Harry's teacher snapped.

"I fell."

"No lies, Potter."

"Fine. I was skateboarding with my friend, and something happened, loose rock or something, and he tripped. I was already on the ground tying my shoe, and his feet landed right over my hands. It happened on Saturday," Harry said, giving a more creditable lie. Snape _seemed_ to believe this one, although he didn't offer any comment.

Harry was dropped off _into _Pomfrey's office, and Snape even stayed until the rotund woman had greeted Harry and made him sit down. The professor even explained Harry's injury—including the fictional origin. Harry stayed silent and stared at his discolored hands until he heard the door shut and the nurse's own hands tilted his head up.

"Harry, my dear. How are you today?" she asked with a cheery smile. Harry shrugged.

"I _was _just fine," he said, his voice a bit too biting. Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice—or take offense.

"Well, let's take a look at your hands. You can move all the fingers, yes?" Harry nodded.

"Just fine," he whispered.

"Any pain?" Harry glared and received a sympathetic look in return. "Well of course, dear. Silly question. What I meant, was, is there any pain you feel, aside from the bruising? Any sharp needle-like feelings occasionally?"

"I don't know. Maybe once or twice just after it happened. I haven't had any in a few days though, even earlier today when I was dancing with them." The nurse nodded and patted his hands.

"I'm sorry, dear, but there's nothing I can do for the bruising. You'll simply have to endure the questions for a few days, however I dare say you won't have to worry about Professor Snape dragging you off to my office anyway...best to get that out of the way. It's entirely possible that there are a few tiny fractures in there—that's those sharp bursts of pain—but nothing that won't heal in a week. For now, be _very _careful not to abuse your hands. It'd be best to not dance too intensely on them, write for too long, grip things tightly...that sort of thing. For now, would you like something for the pain?" Harry gave a weak smile, shrugging.

"Uh....sure. That'd be great." Madam Pomfrey beamed.

…

Harry stumbled through his ballet class with a little more grace than he had the previous week, and the teacher seemed to be happy with him for it. The unnatural movements plagued his muscles, and it was hard to convince his arms and legs to cooperate with his brain, but the class hadn't been a total disaster. The worst part of it was answering all the questions about his bruised hands. After class, the instructor asked Harry to stay behind for a few moments. As the rest of the dancers filed out of the room after putting their warm-ups or clothes over their dance clothes, Harry went to the front of the class.

"Sir?" he asked. His teacher smiled at him.

"You did well in class today, Harry," he said seriously. The teen boy looked away with a pleased smile on his face.

"Thanks," Harry whispered.

"I'm sure you'll catch up very quickly. In the meantime, you need to start looking at buying some proper dance-wear for yourself." Harry kept his eyes on the floor. "I am not particular about what you wear in this class, but once you're back in sophomore ballet the teachers, _Madam _Trelawney and Remus," the teacher playfully rolled his eyes at Sybil's name, "it's school rules to wear proper attire." Harry sighed and looked up for a brief moment.

"What....what exactly do I need?" Harry asked.

"I would start with pair of black and a pair of white tights, two of each if you wish, a couple more pairs of black dance shoes, and a white shirt. How's that sound?" _Oh fuck_.

"Yeah, sure. I'll...look into it," Harry said half-heartedly. His teacher looked at him for a moment.

"There's a quaint little shop on A 6th. You might start there," he said kindly. Harry looked up and gave him a smile.

"Sure, thanks."

"Alright, Harry. Get to class, and nice job today. I have a feeling you'll do well here." Harry didn't react for a moment, but then a smile broke out on his face and he nodded. His teacher laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment, until a gentle push sent Harry out the door and onto algebra. He ran through the hall and hurried to unlock his locker, tossing his dance bag inside and grabbing his algebra textbook and homework. A one-minute warning bell rang and Harry swore, slamming his locker shut and sprinting down the hall. Someone grabbed his wrist just as he was about to jump down the stairs, and Harry was whirled around to stop about a centimeter away from someone's chest.

"Watch where you're going, kid," Draco said with a smirk. Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or glare, and the attempt at both was hilarious.

"Draco...do you need something? I'm going to be late to algebra...." Harry mentioned.

"I just wanted to make sure we were still on for coffee on Wednesday," Draco said with a cheery smile.

"_Dra_co, I have ten seconds to get to class and you're making sure we're still going to hang after school in _two days? _Oh my _god_," Harry said with an exasperated chuckle. Draco draped an arm over Harry's shoulders, not noticing how tense the black-haired teen became, and began walking with him down the stairs. The bell sounded and Harry groaned.

"Chill, Harry. I'll let the teacher know that you had a valid reason for being late."

"And she'll _listen_?" Harry asked.

"Sure. I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Right. Whatever," Harry said. He looked up at Draco, noticing for the first time the aura of confidence that Draco positively _oozed. _It was almost suffocating, but at the same time, nice to be around. Draco stopped at Harry's classroom and dropped his arm from around the teen's shoulders, opening the door for him. Harry walked in and all the eyes in the classroom snapped to him. He took a step back, blushing and staring at his shoes in embarrassment, but Draco's hand at his back stopped him.

"Sorry Mrs. Hampton, but Harry and I were having a discussion about after school studies with Professor Snape. He said to let you know that this really isn't Harry's fault, and he would have had a pass...but, well, this _is _Professor Snape," Draco said with a 'you know what I'm talking about smile'. Mrs. Hampton nodded.

"Of course...that man doesn't believe in passes....come in Harry dear, come in. We were just talking about real numbers, weren't we class?" Harry didn't move, waiting for everyone to stop looking at him.

"I'll see you later, Harry," Draco whispered in his ear, giving Harry a push into the class. The black-haired teen stumbled before catching himself and practically running to a seat in the back. He sat down and saw Draco wink at him before the blond left to his own class. Harry turned to the teacher with a nervous look on his face and the teacher continued with her lecture.

…

"Harry, calm down! It's just hip-hop...jeez..." Hermione said with a smile, forcing Harry's bouncing body into a chair in the cafeteria. The two shared a hip-hop class along with Doug; for Hermione it was the worst dance class the school offered. "I just don't see how you can actually be _excited _about it, let alone _like _it. The class is horrible...."

"It couldn't be that bad, Hermione," Harry looked to Doug. "What do you think?" The dark-skinned boy shrugged.

"It's fun, really. Kinda crazy moves, but it's a nice change from the normal ballet technique stuff. 'Mione hates it because she sucks at it," Doug said with a wink in Harry's direction. Hermione gave an indignant huff and stood.

"_I'm _going to go get lunch," she announced, and marched off to the line across the room.

"How's the food here?" he asked, turning to Doug.

"It's good. Healthy as hell, but everything's really good. Most kids don't bring lunch from home because it saves time in the morning, although I've always liked making my own lunch," he explained. Harry nodded.

"How much is it?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Depends on what's being served. Everything's under four bucks, and salads are the cheapest...I think. It's because of this grant the school got—lunch prices were cut in half or something, like, two years ago." Harry nodded, digging his apple out of his bag and taking a bite. It was soft and mostly bruised—one of Vernon's rejects. Hermione came back several minutes later, and to Harry's surprise, set a tray of food in front of him. He looked up to the girl who was now seated across from him.

"I didn't ask—"

"I know," she said simply. Harry pushed the tray away from him, and both Hermione and Doug pushed it back at him. Neville had joined their table with Luna just before Hermione arrived with the food, and they looked on with apprehension.

"Well if I didn't ask, then why did you get it for me?" Harry demanded, glaring. Hermione glared back.

"I don't know how you survive on an _apple a day_," she stated. Harry's glare deepened.

"Fuck, Hermione, you've known me for _how _many days? Like, four? And now you're butting into my life like it's actually your business?" Harry asked, his voice raising just a bit.

"Har_ry_! It _is _my business, because you're not eating properly and you're my _friend_. I'm worrying about you," she retorted.

"Well I didn't ask to be worried about either! Why can't you just mind your own business?!" Harry stood up and shouldered his bag. Doug jumped up as well.

"Harry, it's just lunch. She didn't mean to offend you, just wanted you to...She was just trying to help," he said.

"I didn't _fucking ask _to be helped! Don't—"

"Mr. Potter, watch your language. Swearing and yelling may have been permitted at your old school, but not at this one. You may bring your lunch and follow me," a silky voice demanded from behind Harry. The black-haired boy flinched in surprise when the professor spoke, but he didn't turn around. Didn't move. "Did you _hear me_, boy? Bring your lunch and _follow_," Severus Snape snapped. The sharp tone made Harry grab the tray in front of him without question and turn to follow Snape from the room. He looked back at his friends just as he slipped into the hall. Hermione appeared happy that he taken his lunch and Doug just gave a sympathetic look. Harry focused on the man in front of him and hurried down the hall.

The professor and Harry walked up the stairs and entered the chemistry room. Snape pointed to a desk at the front of the room, indicating Harry should sit there. Harry sat stiffly and let his bag fall from his shoulder after setting his tray down. Snape moved to his own desk and sat down, not sparing a glance at Harry who sat stock still, as if expecting Snape to start screaming at him. After fifteen minutes, the professor looked up.

Harry was still sitting the chair, back rigid, his eyes staring at the periodic table at the front of the room. He didn't move, didn't alter his position in the slightest. And the food before him, a ham and cheese sandwich with a salad next to it, was still untouched even though Snape had heard the boy's stomach complain several times.

"Potter," he snapped. Harry's green eyes moved instantly, but didn't remain focused on Snape for long, choosing to rest on the floor tiling. "Why haven't you eaten your lunch?" Harry was silent. "Answer me," Snape demanded. Harry looked up again.

"I...it's not really mine, sir," he whispered. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Then what on earth possessed you to bring it with you? Whose lunch _is_ it?" he asked sharply. Harry's eyes were back on the floor.

"Um...Hermione bought it."

"You took Mrs. Granger's _lunch_," Snape accused, eyes narrowing. Harry jumped at his professor's tone, although his eyes stayed on the floor.

"Well, she said she bought it for me, but...I didn't ask her too," Harry mentioned. Snape sat back in his chair. The boy sitting in his classroom was possibly the most perplexing child he had ever encountered at this school. Why would he mention that he hadn't asked his friend to purchase lunch for him? Why would that matter?

"Maybe if you explain yourself, Mr. Potter. From the beginning," Snape requested, his tone slightly, only slightly, softer. Harry tensed.

"Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but it's...it's not any of your business," Harry said. His posture had sunk until his back was pressed against the chair back , his shoulders hunched over and his head down.

"On the contrary, Potter, I am your teacher, and it _is _my business," Snape corrected.

"Please, sir, it's not that important."

"_Explain the situation, _Potter," Snape demanded.

"It's really not that big of a deal, sir," Harry persisted.

"EXPLAIN, POTTER!" Snape yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. "Do not tell me what is _'not a big deal_'. Just tell me what I _asked_ you to ex_plain," _he bit out, forcing the words through his teeth. Harry jolted backwards, almost tipping the desk back. His face turned to look at Snape, wide and frightened eyes looking from under long lashes. Harry looked terrified.

"Um...Hermione said....Hermione said last week that I didn't eat enough and I got mad at her. And today she bought me lunch because she wanted me to eat more, but I didn't ask her too, and so I didn't want it because it didn't seem right that I...um...just take food that she bought...and then we were arguing and then you came and I'm really sorry, sir. I won't do it again. I promise. I'm sorry, really, I am. _Please _sir, don't..." Harry seemed to catch himself. "Never mind. I'm sorry, sir."

Snape put his face in his hands. _Where is Black when you need him? _he wondered. He wasn't about to counsel a student on accepting favors.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Next time, you will do as I tell you, the first time. I believe you owe Mrs. Granger an apology, and a 'thank you'. For now, you will eat the lunch in front of you. I'll not have you waste perfectly good food."

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered.

"And it will be after-school detention the next time I hear you swearing in this school," Snape added.

"Yes, sir," the teen said, picking up his sandwich.

The professor couldn't help but to observe the boy as he ate. Every bite seemed to be...cherished, not forced, as Severus would have expected it to be. Harry Potter's name had been added last Monday to a list of 'children at risk', or so Madam Pomfrey called it. It was a list of children with either psychological problems or eating disorders, mainly the later. Harry was thought to be either anorexic or bulimic. It was common for these children to undergo therapy with Sirius Black until their disorders could be properly dealt with. Harry should have immediately be placed into counseling, but Black had gone on a honeymoon with Remus Lupin, another teacher at the school, and would not be back for two more weeks.

However, Snape had ruled out the possibility of Harry being anorexic. Within ten minutes the boy had carefully eaten his sandwich and salad at a rapid pace—not normal behavior for someone who could not bring themselves to eat more than three bites.

When Harry set down his fork after finishing the last of his meal, Snape put down the pencil he had been grading with and cleared his throat. Harry's gaze snapped to him.

"Mr. Potter, I am going to ask you several questions, and I want to you speak freely. I am asking for honest answers, and not something you think I wish to hear. You will no be punished for anything you say in the next ten minutes or so. Is that understood?" he asked. Harry nodded, appearing nervous.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"You mentioned earlier that what led to your being here was 'none of my business'. Why did you assume this? Be honest." Harry took a deep breath before answering. He began with a shrug.

"I...It just felt like that was personal. Between me and 'Mione, you know? I honestly didn't mean to be rude, but you're...you're a teacher," he said softly, refusing to look his professor in the eye. Snape sighed.

"Mr. Potter, let me explain the situation for you. As you know, Madam Pomfrey suspects you of having an eating disorder—"

"What?! She _told _you?! I thought...I thought that—"

"Was confidential?" Snape cut in. Harry nodded, eyes wide. "As it would have been, had it been anything but an eating disorder that could affect your performance at this school, let alone your health. At that point, all the teachers must be notified in case something happens, such as you fainting in class." Harry looked down at his hands. "If I had it my way, you would be in counseling with Mr. Black as of your first day of class, but Madam Pomfrey decided to give you a month, and Black is gone on other business at the moment anyway.

"In the case of Black's absence, I am traditionally the replacement counselor. I know how adverse you are to the idea of counseling, but I wanted to extend the offer to you," Snape stated. Harry glared.

"Sorry, sir, but I don't exactly want my personal feelings known to every single adult in this building," he said, a hint of anger beneath his words.

"Anything you say to me will not be shared with anyone else. In the case that you reveal something that is absolutely necessary for Madam Pomfrey to know, I would inform her, and only her," the professor explained.

"What if I told you I...did have an...eating disorder?"

"That would be one of those times Madam Pomfrey would need to know. It would then be between her and I to put you on a course to recovery."

"What about...parents? I mean, would you tell them?" Snape raised his eyebrows.

"I was under the impression you lived with your uncle?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Okay, would you tell him?" he re-phrased.

"I would think he already knew. But in the case that he didn't, still I would not tell him. That is entirely up to you." Harry breathed a small sight of relief.

"Okay. I'll...I'll think about what you said. Thank you, sir," Harry said. He looked up at his professor and gave the man a small, timid smile. Snape nodded his head.

"Please do. You may leave now, classes will resume in fifteen minutes," Snape informed him. Harry nodded and stood, taking his tray and bag with him as he left the room.

"See you later, professor," he said before leaving the room. Snape contained his smile until Harry was out of eyesight. The child was...charming in a way. Entirely frustrating and troublesome, but still charming. Severus couldn't remember another time when he actually _offered _his shoulder to cry on for another student, although he was counting on the fact that Harry wouldn't know it.

Harry stored his bag back in his locker and walking quickly to the cafeteria to turn his tray into the dishwashers, before heading back upstairs to change into his dance outfit for hip-hop. Hermione and Doug caught up with him as he was walking up the stairs.

"Hey guys," Harry greeted softly. Doug smiled.

"How was Snape? Did he cut off your left hand to use in experiments?" he asked with a wink. Harry laughed.

"What? No! He just...I dunno, told me not to swear anymore."

"Well, you shouldn't. I hope you listen to him," Hermione added. Harry looked at her.

"And put my left hand in danger? Never!" he joked. She smiled, shaking her head. The three walked in silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again. "Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry about earlier. I just...I don't know. I'm not used to being helped, so it's strange that someone would do something nice for me just...to be nice. I appreciate it, I really do."

"Harry, I'm sorry too. I should have at least asked. Doug and I talked about it and we decided it probably was kind of rude to assume you would want our help. You can tell us to back off, you know, and you won't hear of it again," she said seriously. Harry shrugged.

"No, it's fine. Kind of nice actually. I'll pay you back for lunch, too," he offered. He was sure he had three dollars of so in his bag somewhere. She vigorously shook her head.

"It's okay. I don't mind paying for it, as long as you eat it, okay?" Harry looked at her, surprised at the offer, but still pleased. Maybe this was what Seamus was saying about accepting help and all that.

"Alright. Just...don't feel you have to buy lunch for me every day. And if I insist on paying sometimes, please let me, okay?" Hermione gave him a hug.

"Of course, Harry!" she exclaimed, while Doug just rolled his eyes. "Now, we have to change or we'll be late for class. Go on!" She shooed the boys off to the locker rooms and went to the girls' locker rooms herself, smiling. She didn't know what Harry's _real _problem was, but she wanted the boy to trust her.

…

Harry might have struggled with ballet, but hip-hop was...easy. Ridiculously so. As today was the first hip-hop class of the year, most of it was review, but there were no unfamiliar steps. It was odd to learn the names of moves that he had been using since fourth grade, but they were still the same idea. Within the first five minutes Harry knew this class wouldn't teach him much...even though the teacher seemed adept.

"Harry, demonstrate that last move, please," the instructor requested. He was a lean black man, built like a track star, but with the arms of a basketball player. Harry had never seen or heard of him, but he had an instant respect for the man.

Harry demonstrated the move that the class had been trying to learn. Honestly, he had never done it before in his life, but it was pretty much a combination of swiveled knee drop and a kick out...the basic stuff. Easy as breathing. _If only ballet were this easily, _Harry thought to himself as he was dragged to the front of the class for more demonstrations. It was nice to receive impressed looks from his classmates for a change; Harry felt himself smiling every once in a while, hope bubbling in his chest. If he could do nothing else, he knew how to dance out on the streets, when all the preppy kids at this school couldn't do a graceful rock step to save their lives.

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Reviews are wonderful inspirations to me! I would love to hear what you all think.

Thanks for reading,

-Wykkyd


	11. Deceit

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, related characters or plotlines. Your praise of the originals can go to J. K. Rowling, please.

**A/N: **Christmas break is here, and I have fully recovered from finals. So, I'm back to writing, and you can all thank the wonderful few who reviewed TF within the last week for getting me off my ass and posting this! I'm hoping for several more chapter updates before the spring semester starts; hopefully my intentions work out. Sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Deceit**

The Weasleys' home above their shop was filled with yells and laughter as the normal din of five children 'doing homework' progressed. Harry had joined Ron, Ginny, and the twins after he got out of school on Tuesday, bringing his mountainous pile of homework with him. He knew he was partly showing off, a kind of 'I have legitimate homework and you don't' thing, but in actuality, no one cared because no one was doing their homework except for Harry. Ron had helped him with world history homework and then grew bored and went back to fiddling around on his father's guitar. The twins had moved in to help Harry with algebra, English, and chemistry homework. Harry was always surprised by how intelligent they were, when their schooling was just as poor as Ron's, probably even worse, actually. Nevertheless, they were great to have around, Harry realized, as algebraic terms were explained to him in simple understandable words.

"So, how was school today?" Ginny asked Harry, doodling a picture of a nude male on her homework. Harry noticed she was exaggerating...certain parts. Harry shrugged.

"Fine. I really hate history, and the teacher's worse than most at the Hell Hole, but modern dance is really fun, and I like chemistry. Tuesday's are pretty good," he answered. Ginny made a face.

"How could you _like _chemistry? It's _horrible,_" she pronounced. Ginny was a freshman, and shouldn't be taking chemistry this year, but she tested out of physical science and was moved up a year. She didn't appear to be enjoying the experience. Harry shrugged again.

"The teacher at Hogwarts is really good. Plus, you actually get to do experiments and stuff, so it's pretty interesting."

"Hogwarts?" the twins asked in unison.

"It's a nickname for the school. Fifth Avenue School of the Arts is kind of a mouthful, I guess," Harry said, marking an answer in his homework.

"Weird name, if you ask me," George commented with a grin. Harry breathed a small laugh.

"Yeah, it has something to do with the history of the school. Did you know it used to be a boarding school, where all the kids stayed on campus? They used to have houses for the four arts taught at the school, Slytherin for instrumentalists, Gryffindor for dancers, Ravenclaw for artists—like, drawing and painting and stuff—and Hufflepuff for the actors. The names were in honor of the founders of the school or something." George laid down on the worn couch, stretching out, and everyone else settled as well, hoping for a story.

"Why aren't the houses in use now?"

"Visual art was cut out of the curriculum at some point, so the Ravenclaw house no longer existed. After that the rest of the houses kind of lost their meaning. Plus, at that point, and get this, Hogwarts used to only be a _boarding_ school, where all the kids stayed on campus. Draco—the guy who told me all of this—said that about a hundred and fifty kids still stay in the dorms now, although no one is sorted by house anymore," Harry explained, looking at the twins, whose eyebrows were raised.

"What are the chances you could move into the dorms?" they asked.

"I thought about it, and I've asked a few questions, but the dorms are pretty much reserved for kids who aren't from around here. Plus, they cost extra money, and there's no way in _hell _I could afford it," he answered. The twins nodded.

"So you'd be a Gryffindor then, huh?" Ron asked with a smile. Harry grinned back, nodding.

"I guess so. Supposedly the Gryffindors and Slytherins were house rivals and a lot of pranking and bullying went on, another reason the houses were disbanded after a while," Harry continued. "Apparently some of the fights got really vicious, and it culminated in some kid going to jail at one point...Riddle someone..."

"That sounds awful," Ginny remarked.

Ron grinned, "sounds awesome!" Harry laughed at his friend.

"I guess. I'm not that disappointed that the houses were disbanded, but it'd be so nice to sleep in the dorms..." he trailed off, dropping his eyes back to his homework. The Weasleys glanced at each other and then back to Harry. Silence ensued with the only distraction the scratching of dull graphite on paper. Harry filled in several more answers with the twin's help. "You know what's weird? I always thought that the Hell Hole didn't teach you anything, but I'm not doing too bad academically at school right now. I thought I'd be totally out of my league," Harry commented. Ron shrugged.

"You've always been pretty bright, I guess. I mean, you learn fast," the red-head said. Harry smiled at him in thanks.

"Yeah, the teachers are really...different, I guess..." Harry trailed off again, going back to his homework. He really didn't like talking about his school with the Weasleys, because he didn't want them to feel that he was better than them or something. He didn't want to brag about his teachers, or his grades, or anything. He really shouldn't even bring his homework over to the Weasleys. Ron had always been his friend, but he could get awfully jealous of Harry whenever the black-haired boy managed to do something better than Ron. If Harry wasn't careful, getting an education and leaving Thirteenth could be a slap in the face from Ron's point of view. But Ron was, well, Ron was never destined to leave Thirteenth. He never showed initiative, he wasn't the brightest in the Weasley bunch, and he didn't have many goals in life. The twins on the other hand, used to have a dream of going to school and becoming lawyers. It was a childhood fantasy they had at ten years old, although by twelve they had figured out that their dream was impossible. Harry felt a flash of pity for the Weasley children, but shrugged it off. There was no use thinking about that now.

When Harry started listening to the conversation again, the Weasleys were talking about another visit to the Hot Zone. The twins seemed for it, Ron as well, but Ginny was less sure.

"Look what happened last time, boys. Two people got _shot_, and Harry got slashed by a knife. It's not safe anymore," she proclaimed. "I'm sure Cho would agree with me."

"Oh come on, Miss Worry-Wart. Things like that are rare, at least, normally people don't start shootings inside a public building. It'll be fine, right Harry?" Ron said, looking to his best friend.

"Uh...sure. It's probably be fine, Gin," Harry said dutifully, and Ron gave him wink. Ginny pursed her lips and crossed her arms in a huff.

"Fine. But don't expect me to come with you," she snapped.

"Oh Gin, since when are you worried about a little danger? You live...here," Fred joked, waving his arm to the heavily barred window in the room. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Fine! Fine. I'll come, but only if we go on a weekend so we're not a minority," she said firmly. George leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear.

"'Minority' was Ginny's class' word-of-the-day," he said conspiratorially. Harry choked back a laugh while Ginny, who overheard her brother's comment, glared.

"Whatever, guys. I'm with Ginny on the weekend thing, actually. I'm not staying up late on a school night," Harry said.

"Loser," Ron coughed. Harry opened his mouth to point out he actually went to school to _be _something, but closed it again. No point in starting an argument now.

"Okay then, the Zone this Saturday," Ginny stated. "I'll let Cho know we're going, see if she wants to come with Cedric, although I kinda doubt it."

"Seam and Dean'll be there anyway," Ron said, "so I don't think we'll need to tell them." Harry smiled, looking forward to Saturday already. It would be nice to relax for a night, shake out the Fifth Ave School of the Arts stress.

…

Wednesday morning was cold and windy, Harry found as he stepped out of the dilapidated apartment building. A bitter wind slapped him in the face and ran through his thin cotton jacket. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and ran the seven blocks to the bus stop, where he ducked inside the small shelter over the benches. The walls didn't do much to protect from the wind, as the wind was coming through the open wall, but Harry didn't have to wait long for the bus to show up. Ten minutes later he was huddled on a seat near the small heaters on the buses, blowing on his red hands to keep them warm. He got off fifteen minutes later and got on another bus that went downtown and dropped him off less than a block away from the school.

He needed to dig through his box of clothes and see if he could find a warmer jacket, and if not, go find one somewhere else. Maybe one of those churches would have something he could buy for a dollar or less. Harry didn't even want to think about when it snowed or even worse, rained. He sighed. Winter sucked.

Harry had woken up in the morning thinking about Draco, and their coffee 'date' after school. Wednesday's were one of the days that had an extra period, which Harry dreaded because a small snack at lunch wasn't enough to get him through four in the afternoon. But the promise of warm coffee cheered him a bit, even if he ended up having to pay. He could always just get a small one.

As usual, Harry got off the bus with half an hour to spare before his English class. He made his way to the locker rooms on the second floor, changed, and let himself into one of the dance studios. When Harry turned to look into the mirror, he noticed a tall girl at the barre, pointe shoes on her feet. She had pale hair, even fairer than Draco's, with radiant skin.

"Do not be shy. Come on in," she said. The girl had a fairly pronounced French accent, at least Harry thought it was French, but it wasn't so harsh as to make her speech hard to understand. She turned around when Harry neared her, sparkling blue eyes gleaming at him and red lips pulled into a smile. "My name is Fleur. I am an exchange student from France. Today is my first day here," she announced confidently. Harry nodded with a small smile, his own confidence taking a hit.

"Um...I'm Harry. This is...well, this is my first year here," he said nervously.

"Oh! So you are a freshman!" Fleur declared. Harry cringed and shook his head.

"Sophomore, actually," he corrected. Fleur bent down to look at Harry at eye-level, cupping her hands around Harry's thin face. The black-haired boy suppressed his flinch, but stepped back and out of the French girl's grasp as soon as possible.

"But you are so small!" she cried. Harry shrugged.

"So?" he challenged. Fleur waved her hand in dismissal and turned back to the barre.

"Think nothing of it. It was nice to meet you, Harry," she said, staring at the wall in front of her as she went back to warming up. Harry nodded and stumbled backwards until he turned and sped out of the room. He would find something else to do for a half hour. Harry made his way to the staircase, still dressed in his dance clothes, and walked up to the third story. Like the second floor hallway, this hallway was empty. As Harry walked towards the end of the hall, he noticed several professors in their classrooms, making last-minute lesson plans or grading students' work. His history professor looked up as Harry passed by and gave a cheery wave. Harry smiled in return and continued down the hall.

A soft melody reached his ears as he neared the practice rooms, and Harry recognized it as a violin. Curiosity overwhelming him, Harry stepped into the large room filled with separate practice rooms. The melody grew slightly louder once Harry was in the room, but still remained muted.

It didn't take long to find which cubicle was occupied. The violinist wasn't facing the outside of the cubicle, but Harry instantly knew who it was. No one in the school but Draco Malfoy had such fair blond hair, except for maybe the new French girl. For a moment Harry was still, debating whether he should knock on the door and alert Draco to his presence, or if he should leave and let the blond practice in peace. He was saved the decision when Draco turned towards the glass door and stopped playing when he saw Harry. Holding his violin and bow in one hand Draco opened the door.

"Morning, Harry. What are you doing here?" Harry shrugged, waving to the dance clothing he was still wearing.

"I came early to warm up and stretch out a bit, but there's some exchange student bitch or something and she's kind of intimidating to work around..." Harry mentioned. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you'll get used to people like that here. But come on in, you can listen to me practice if you want," he suggested. Harry moved into the small room rather shyly, pressing himself into a corner so he wouldn't be in the way. Draco gave him another smile and went back to playing. Harry let himself relax in the room, the soft tendrils of musical phrases soothing him. Draco really was an amazing violinist.

Before Draco got far in his rehearsal, the bell rang and the two boys were forced to leave the practice room and go to their first classes.

"Why don't you eat lunch with me today?" Draco asked Harry before they parted ways. Harry looked away from the senior, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

"Uh...with your girlfriend, too?" he asked dully. The blond laughed.

"No. Just a couple of my friends. Blaise—you met him last Wednesday—and a couple others. I won't let Pansy near you, promise," Draco teased, tilting Harry's blushing face up with his hand. "Sound good?"

"Sure, I guess I can handle forty-five minutes in the lions' den," Harry said, although he didn't sound entirely sure of himself. Draco ignored that and smiled at his younger friend.

"Great. I'll see you at lunch then, if not before." Harry nodded and walked off towards his class, waving at Draco.

Harry waited nervously for lunch, finally able to leave class and head to the cafeteria. He ducked into a bathroom on the way there to check his appearance in the mirror—an annoying habit of his whenever he was going to meet Draco. _If that kid weren't so well...groomed! _Harry thought, wetting his hands and running them through his hair in an effort to tame it. After a minute or so of messing with it he gave up, shook his head to move the black mop back into whatever position was natural, and left the bathroom.

Draco's table was always easy to spot from the doors to the cafeteria. It was a little out of the way, but round, where all the other tables were square. True to Draco's word, Harry noticed that Pansy wasn't anywhere in sight, and with a relieved sigh he crossed the room to set his things down and sit next to Draco, waving to a few friends on the way. The blond looked at him as he sat down, smiling.

"Hey Harry! How was your last class?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Fine," he answered, looking down at the table when he noticed Draco's friends staring at him.

"Okay, well you met Blaise," Draco began, pointing to a dark-haired boy who kind of looked like Doug, "and that's Vince and Greg," Draco pointed to two large boys with buzz cuts, " and the two _girls_ over there are Millicent and Theo," Draco pointed to a boy and girl who were whispering furiously to each other across the table. The boy, Theo, broke off the conversation to glare at Draco.

"The next time you call me a girl, you fucking fairy, I am going to tell everyone you wear Pansy's underwear for fun," he threatened. Draco made a face.

"Pansy's underwear? I would rather wear _Loony's _panties," he said, chuckling along with the rest of the table, save Harry, who frowned.

"Why does everyone call her Loony? She seems nice enough," he put in softly. Vince shrugged, looking at Greg.

"It's not an insult, I mean, she's no worse than half the crazies here anyway," he said with a fond smile. "Luna was at the summer workshops here, acting, and we all had to make up names for ourselves—I was one of the guys helping with the classes. She chose Loony herself, and I guess it stuck," Greg explained.

"Does she mind it now, or something?" Millicent asked, concerned. Harry smiled.

"I...I don't think so. It's just, the kids I've been eating with lately, Luna included, don't call her that. I kind of assumed it was an insult, or something," he said, a faint blush crossing his cheeks. Millicent shook her head with a smile, her brown curls bouncing around.

"Oh no! It's not an insult at all! Just a nickname. You should tell us, though, Harry, if she stops liking the name. I'd feel so horrible if I insulted her!" she exclaimed, poking at her salad. Draco rolled his eyes, and Harry caught the word 'girls' thrown in their a couple times. He smiled and reached into his bag to pull out the apple he had stolen from the refrigerator this morning. When he brought it up to the table, Blaise was looking at him.

"So, Draco tells us you're a little prodigy," he said with a smirk. Harry glanced to the blond on his right, who just shrugged.

"Just stating a fact, Harry," he defended. Harry looked down, not knowing what to say, but assuming he should say _something. _Theo saved him.

"Well, _are _you?"

"No!" Harry didn't have to think. "I mean, yeah, I got a good scholarship," he heard Blaise snort at his understatement, "but I'm not that great. I'm so horrible at ballet they moved me into the beginning freshmen class," he said with a rueful smile.

"Are you a fast learner?" Theo wondered. Harry shrugged.

"I guess. I'm picking up the steps pretty fast. It's just...god, there's so much _stretching_," he complained. "Before, I never had to stretch, I could just...do whatever," he finished.

"What do mean 'before'?" Millicent asked around a lettuce leaf.

"Um...well, I learned to dance in the...with a group who didn't really do classical dance stuff. I've taken ballet classes before, but it wasn't anything like it is here. Much more casual."

"So you mean you learned, like, hip hop?" Millicent asked, excited. Harry nodded.

"Pretty much. That class here is great, actually, because I've been doing it for so long."

"Yeah, we've heard the rumors," Draco said, winking at Harry and looking pointedly at the apple Harry's hand had been playing with. "Eat," he commanded, and Harry rolled his eyes, but took a bite anyway.

"Did Drake tell you about the spring performance they have here? Are you going to do it?" Vince asked.

"_Dra_co, please," Draco mentioned. Harry shook his head in response to the question.

"Ah...probably not. I mean, if I get good enough I might audition, but I probably won't make it in, so...you know."

"You _ooze _confidence," Greg told Harry sarcastically, and the black-haired boy laughed.

"I know, huh?"

When the group was finished with lunch, Millicent, Greg, and Vince moved to another table to talk about some acting project they had to organize, and Blaise and Theo gave a cryptic message that mentioned behind the school—Draco and Harry were wise to not ask questions. When the table was empty save for the two of them, Draco stood up. Harry stood as well, not wanting to be left alone at the table, and intending to go sit with Hermione, Luna, and his other friends when Draco left to do whatever he needed to. But the blond surprised Harry when he jerked his head towards the door and led Harry out of the cafeteria.

"We have thirty minutes until class starts, let's take a walk," Draco suggested. Harry nodded, slinging his bag over one shoulder and following Draco out of the building.

The day had warmed up considerably, it wasn't windy anymore, and the sun had warmed the air to an oddly comfortable temperature for September. The two took a left from the school entrance and began walking down the sidewalk in companionable silence, until Draco's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it, then made a face.

"It's just Pansy," he said aloud, shoving it back in his pocket without answering. Harry glanced at the blond.

"Um...you don't, well, seem to like her all that much, for a boyfriend, anyway," he mentioned. Draco laughed, nodding.

"Pansy and I have outgrown each other romantically. We make good friends, but horrible dates. She just...doesn't see that yet. I'm trying to break up with her—don't tell—but it's hard to find any time to talk around her, she doesn't fucking shut up," he said with good humor. Harry couldn't help smiling, glad that Draco wasn't as attached to the girl as Harry originally thought. "What about you, though? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends?" Harry blushed, unused to talking about such.

"Me? Oh...uh...no. Not really," he answered.

"Ever?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, I had a girlfriend last year sometime. We're really better off as friends."

"Yeah," Draco said with a laugh, "I know all about that. What about boyfriends, then?" he asked. Harry dropped his gaze to the sidewalk, thinking of his kiss with Seamus, and what the Irish boy has said.

"Um...no. I've never had a...boyfriend," Harry said.

"Not bi, then?" Draco asked, as if he were commenting on the weather. Harry felt like melting into the concrete beneath his feet.

"Uh...I don't really know...yet. I mean, I've kissed guys, but..." Harry trailed off. Draco probably didn't want those details.

"But...what?" Or maybe he did.

"Oh god, this is embarrassing," Harry moaned, running a hand through his hair. Draco laughed.

"I take it sexuality was kind of a taboo subject at your old school?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Something like that. My friends are pretty open about it, I mean, some of them are. I have a few gay friends, and I've kissed guys before, but it wasn't anything serious. Mostly we were all smashed or something, or they were...they were trying to make a point," he said quickly, cheeks flaming. Draco elbowed him.

"Make a point, huh? That sounds awfully incriminating, Harry," he teased. Harry pressed his face into his hands, smiling despite his embarrassment.

"Oh god, stop! I'm about to die, here," he exclaimed. Draco laughed once more, and then his arm draped around Harry's shoulders. Harry tensed for a moment, not expecting the touch. If Draco felt it, he didn't react, which Harry was fine with.

"Okay fine. Keep me posted, though, yeah?" he joked one last time. "But, Harry, really I wanted to talk to you about school." Draco's voice had changed from laughing humor to a serious drawl, and Harry looked up with trepidation.

"What do you mean?" Draco stopped, Harry along side him, and the two briskly crossed the street just before the crosswalk signaled pedestrians to wait. The blond led Harry a little ways into the park and then sat down on the bench, with his arm still around Harry's shoulders. Harry shivered—the bench was in the shade and he wasn't wearing a jacket—and Draco pulled him closer. Harry was uncomfortable with their proximity, but Draco was keeping him warm and had never tried to hurt him, so Harry didn't try to squirm away. Draco finally turned to look Harry in the eyes, the black-haired dancer now outright nervous. "Draco...what's this about?" he whispered.

"I don't want to lie to you, Harry, because I want to be your friend, and I know you couldn't stand it if I withheld this from you," Draco began. Harry shifted.

"Draco..."

"Pomfrey talked to me this morning, and I know she's spoken with Hermione and your other friends. You told me she's giving you a month before counseling, but she's seen no improvement in your diet, so now she's reconsidering." Harry opened his mouth, his anxiety replaced with frustration, but Draco put a finger to Harry's lips, quieting him. "It isn't...uncommon...for students to watch out for each other at Hogwarts, but this struck me as pretty serious, Harry. She asked that Severus—chem professor, you know—speak to you the other day, he's the stand-in counselor, although not many kids know that, and then she told me and your other friends to keep an eye on you. Hermione's allowed to charge the school for your lunches right now, if she can get you to eat them. So are any of your friends, and all of the professors. I asked you to eat with me today because I wanted to make sure the nurse isn't just being all motherly for an adorable mop of black hair," Harry glared, although he seemed too trouble to fully respond. "Harry, people are worried, okay? And...well, I don't think you have an eating disorder, and neither does Severus. So it's something else," Draco stated confidently. Harry dropped his head, it seemed as if his frustration had turned to despair.

"Did Snape _tell _you about...the conversation I had with him?" Harry choked out.

"Severus is my godfather. I kind of wrestled it out of him. He wouldn't have told me if he didn't trust me not to tell anyone else, which I will never do. Whatever you tell me will stay between us—as long as you allow me to help," Draco declared. Harry shook his head.

"I just...I can't believe Hermione and Doug...and Snape....and everyone is just...hiding all of this from me! I feel like people are fucking _spying _on me! I mean, is it too much to ask to just be left alone?" Draco didn't answer, letting Harry rant. "Do you just pity me or something? Is that why you're being nice like this?" the dancer asked, upset enough to look Draco in the eyes and hold the senior's gaze. Draco shook his head.

"Not at all, Harry. I met you before any of this stuff happened, and I liked you then. I'm doing this because I'm worried about you, and I want to help."

"I don't want help," Harry whispered, bringing his feet up to rest on the bench and wrapping his arms around his knees, putting his head down.

"Well, if you decide you want someone to talk to, you can always call me. I'll give you my number when we're back at the school, okay?" Draco asked. Harry nodded, his face still pressed to his knees. "And Severus is there for you as well. I know he's intimidating and kind of a bastard, but he cares very much for all his students." Harry sighed.

"I'm a little pissed, actually. I mean...I won't hold it against you...but...this is crazy," Harry moaned. Draco brought his arm away from Harry's shoulders and used both hands to cup Harry face and bring his gaze from his knees.

"I know. This whole thing hasn't been handled right from the start. But...you've got to understand, Harry. Promfrey is legally not allowed to let you slip through the cracks, and you're doing an awfully good job of doing just that. It's reasonable that kids with anorexia or whatever would hide it for a while...but...aside from being as thin as a skeleton you don't seem anorexic. It's logical to assume that you're allowing people to think you are in order to cover something else up. Pomfrey's thinking drugs, Severus is thinking a serious medical condition that you left out of your paperwork, and your friends don't know what to think. Pomfrey _has _to help you if possible, she can't just drop your file and pretend you were never a problem," Draco explained, still cupping Harry's face.

"I _do _understand, I just..." Harry jerked away from Draco. "I just...I'll think about it, okay? I'm not a drug addict or anything," he cringed at the thought, "and I'm not...sick, or whatever Snape thinks. Just let me think...please?" he asked. Draco sat helplessly, staring at the pale boy with concerned eyes.

"Of course, Harry."

"And...maybe give me some space, too. It's not only you...I just..."

"I understand, Harry. When you're ready...well, just let me know. I still want you to have my number, though, will you at least take that?" Harry nodded, standing up and wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Yeah. Sure. And...I guess you can let Pomfrey and Snape know you talked to me. They probably wanted you to, huh?" he asked dismally.

"No. They didn't tell me to talk to you. I just...I want to—"

"Help. I know. And...thanks, I guess, for letting me know about all of this."

"Don't be too angry, okay? Everyone else feels as bad about this as I do," Draco said. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Sure. We should probably go back now," he said, his eyes on his feet. Draco stood and followed Harry out of the park, across the street, and towards the school in silence. Harry's thin shoulders were hunched, his hair hiding his eyes and his hands shoved into his pockets. Draco didn't know if talking with him had been good or bad.

When the two reached the School of Arts Harry accepted Draco's number scribbled on a piece of paper and then disappeared into the crowd of students going to class. He didn't say anything, but gave the blond a flicker of a smile as he pocketed the scrap of paper. Draco supposed that was the best he could hope for, and then hurried up to his locker. He saw Hermione and Doug rush up to Harry, and the black-haired boy just walked past them, giving them an apologetic glance as he waved his hand dismissively. The two students shared a concerned glance, but didn't press the issue with Harry.

Harry didn't mind Latin dance class. It wasn't as hard as ballet because he was familiar with many of the Latin steps already, but it wasn't as easy as hip-hop was. Hermione shared the class with him as well as Doug, and he could feel her watching him through the entire class, her large, concerned brown eyes making him nervous and frustrated. When class was finished he threw on a sweatpants and his shirt in the locker room, grabbed his chemistry textbook and homework from his locker, and continued to Professor Snape's classroom—al the while ignoring Hermione.

He didn't know why he hadn't seen it yesterday, or Monday. Neville was in chemistry with him, but always chose a seat in the back because he was so terrified of Snape. Harry had joined him several times, but not today. The dancer could feel Neville watching him just as Hermione had in his last class. Harry thought that if Neville spent half the time paying attention to his own antacid experiment than he did staring at Harry, Snape wouldn't be able to find any faults with Neville's experiment. Snape was watching him as well, albeit not as obviously as Neville, and Harry was sure he saw the Professor taking notes about his performance, or appearance, or whatever. Harry felt like a specimen, and by the end of class was in such a poor mood he shoved his equipment back in his drawer, dumped all his glassware on the counter for dirty beakers, and stormed out of the room before any student had yet to close their textbook. Snapes' black eyes followed him out the door.

After his character class Harry took a fast shower, changed back into his jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, and left the school. He had been reminded in Latin that he did not have the proper dance attire for Hogwarts, again, so he made his way to A and 6th, intent on finding the little dance shop his ballet instructor had told him about.

It was a classy little shop, and Harry felt horrible out of place as he stepped inside. There were a few prim-looking ballerina girls shopping with each other who looked over when Harry entered. They looked shocked that a scruffy petite boy would ever come into a dance shop. A tall young man greeted him with a smile, asking if he could help Harry at all.

"Um...I'm from the Fifth Avenue School of the Arts and I need...dance stuff for classes," Harry said. The shopping girls looked up again when they heard Harry speak, and then burst into furious whispers. Harry tried to ignore them, focusing on the man in front of him who had pulled out a list and donned a pair of reading glasses.

"Of course. Do you need a full set?"

"Um...I think so. Is that a list, there?" Harry asked. The man slid it across the counter and Harry looked at it. At the top of the paper there was the school crest, and below that it read:

_Proper Dance Attire for Boys_

_Three (3) pairs of black canvas shoes_

_One (1) pair of black leather jazz shoes_

_Warm ups_

_Four (4) pairs of black footed tights_

_Two (2) pairs of pink footed tights_

_A form-fitting shirt _

_For performances and recitals:_

_Pink tights_

_Cap sleeve black leotard_

_Clothing is to be replaced at as needed, at owner's expense._

Harry made a face. There was no way he would be caught _dead_ in a leotard. After another glance over the list, he handed it back to the clerk.

"I'll need two pairs canvas shoes, one pair of the leather ones, four black and two pink pairs of tights. Do you know how much that's going to cost?" Harry asked, biting his lip. The man rang in a few numbers on a calculator on the desk.

"I would recommend buying canvas jazz shoes over the leather ones. You'll need leather for a performance, but for now the canvas ones'll save you some money. Even so, all that's going to come out around a hundred dollars," he told Harry, whose green eyes widened in shock.

"A hundred dollars? Holy shhh....sorry. Um...okay. I'll...talk to my...parents," he stammered.

"Hey kid, if you can't work something out with your parents, you can work here for a few weeks and just work the stuff off. I've done it before for kids—I know how expensive this gear can get," he said.

"No kidding," Harry agreed. "Well, I'll...talk to my un—parents, and then I'll come back in, I guess." The man nodded.

"Alright. Remember, you can always work the clothes off here, I could use some help anyway, and we'd work around your school schedule to make it work for both of us, okay?" Harry nodded, smiling.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot."

"No problem. Take it easy kid," the man said, watching as Harry left the building.

Once outside, Harry ran a hand through his hair and started towards the nearest bus stop. A hundred dollars...just for dance stuff, and not even all of it! Harry figured he could count his current canvas shoes as one pair, he had warm ups and shirts and pants to wear in class. But just shoes and tights! He had been prepared to steal around fifty dollars from Vernon—that was about the highest amount he would live through if caught. But a hundred dollars was out of the question. Whether the sales clerk knew Harry couldn't afford it, or if he offered a trade system to every kid who walked in, Harry didn't know, but he was thankful. He made a note to drop by the shop in two days to work out a schedule.

Harry jumped on a bus that ran near Ron's bakery, going past Hogwarts on the way. Looking out the grimy window, Harry could make out Draco standing on the front steps of the school. He felt guilty, he had forgot to tell Draco he wasn't planning on meeting with him after school like they had been doing on Wednesdays. He needed space from the people at the School of the Arts. While Harry knew they had the best in mind, they had gone behind his back.

With a sigh Harry leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. His life had seemed complicated before...but it was nothing compared to this. _How the hell am I going to survive here _and _at home? _he wondered.

* * *

It feels good to be 'back'! I'm sorta suffering from writers' block as far as this story goes, but I have a few chapters lined out in my head, and it shouldn't take too much work to get my fingers typing ravenously again. Just reading over what I already have helps.

If you have any suggestions on plot, new characters, anything, please let me know. Every little bit helps! Of course, general comments on the chapter or story are also extremely welcome.

Thanks for reading!

-Wykkyd


	12. Closer to Home

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related characters and plotlines are the original creation of J. K. Rowling. You may direct all screaming HP fans to her, please.

**A/N: **Merry late Christmas! I hope everyone had a great day. Nothing much to say for this chapter aside from: enjoy!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Closer to Home**

Draco sat down hard in the chair that was sitting across from his godfather's desk, pulling out a book and waiting for the man to come back to his classroom. When Severus did arrive it was to see Draco reading, his feet propped up on the desk and his back slouched to find maximum comfort in the wooden seat. Severus sat down behind his desk, smacking Draco's ankles with a science magazine. The blond boy dutifully removed them from the desk, and Severus brushed non-existent dirt from underneath them. He glared.

"What do you want, Draco?" Severus asked, pressing the space bar on his computer to bring it out of sleep mode.

"To talk about Harry," Draco answered. "Harry Potter. That small black-haired kid who—"

"I _know _who Mr. Potter is, Draco. He is on the mind of every professor in the building. I'm getting tired of the dramatics that boy flings around," Severus snapped, typing in his password and logging on to the desktop. Draco sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his godfather's desk.

"Sev, come on. You like him," he stated.

"That doesn't mean I agree with every dramatic tale he spins."

"What dramatic tales?" Draco challenged. Severus was silent.

"Fine, Draco. He's not a bad child in the least, but he's creating a fair amount of trouble with his stubbornness."

"I talked to him today."

"You talk to him everyday. You _fawn _over him." Draco ignored the biting tone and continued.

"I told him about what's going on." Severus looked up sharply, scowling at the blond.

"Did you think that through, Draco?" Severus snapped. "I was wondering why he completely turned off today. Not a word from him in class, wouldn't make eye contact—not that that's anything new—and bolted from the room milliseconds after the bell rang. He wasn't speaking to his friends, and because you're here now and not walking in circles around him somewhere I'm betting that he's not talking to you either. And if he won't talk to you or his friends, what in _hell_ makes you think he'll be willing to speak to Pomfrey or one of the professors?" Severus said, his voice louder than normal, but still a far cry from a yell. Nevertheless, Draco winced.

"Severus, I knew what I was doing. Harry's a very straightforward person. This whole thing was going to get out to him anyway; it's better telling him now than waiting until Mr. Black gets back and him finding out then. He wouldn't trust _anyone_, and aren't you looking for him to trust you?" Draco demanded.

"Yes, Draco. I was hoping to get to the bottom of this the quickest way possible. I'm concerned that the boy will drop out if he senses to much pressure on him here."

"He seems to want to be here, and really, he got a full ride—he _knows _he's lucky. Somehow, I don't think he could even hope to afford to go to a school like this," Draco mentioned. Severus snorted.

"He doesn't even appear to afford himself clothing that fits. It is very clear that Harry's family doesn't have money."

"Well...is it possible that's why he's not eating? He can't afford enough food for him and his family?" Draco asked. It sounded like a ridiculous question to him, but either he or Severus had to say it sometime, so he might as well get it out now.

"While I don't doubt he qualifies for stamps, I don't think his situation is that dire. However, finances may be part of the problem. I would think that there's something else to it as well. I suppose you told him my theory about a medical history?" Severus asked. Draco nodded, drumming his fingertips on the desk.

"Yeah. He said that wasn't case, and he was pretty emphatic that he's not on drugs. It's something else." There was silence save for Severus typing on the computer keyboard. Draco waited a few more moments to reveal his guess. "You know what it is, don't you?" Severus was still for a moment, his fingers frozen over the keys. Finally, the chemistry professor nodded slowly.

"I have an...educated guess, yes."

"Well?"

"Draco, it's not something I can share with anyone but Mr. Potter—especially because I'm not sure if I'm right." Draco sighed.

"You're always right." Severus looked at him, one eyebrow arched.

"Don't whine, and don't flatter. I won't be sharing anything else with you, Mr. Malfoy. You get Harry to talk to you about it, or you ask him to give me permission to tell you."

"That means it's serious, then?" Draco asked, although it was more of a statement. Severus did not reply, and his fingers began moving over the keys once more. Draco sighed again, taking his godfather's lack of response as a dismissal. The blond senior rose and shoved his book back into his bag. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good afternoon, Draco," Severus replied, giving the boy a reserved smile.

…......

Harry jumped off the bus at the nearest stop to the Weasleys' bakery, and proceeded to jog to the shop. He found Molly behind the counter and her husband tinkering with a broken microwave, but the upstairs of the shop that served as their home was empty. Molly and Arthur didn't know where their children had gone, but reminded Harry that George and Fred both had cell phones. Harry used the bakery's phone to call George, but the twin didn't pick up. Neither did Fred.

Disappointed, Harry bid goodbye to Molly and Arthur and left the bakery, walking in the direction of his uncle's apartment. The door was unlocked when he arrived, but Harry didn't hear the television blaring when he entered so he assumed Vernon had left and simply forgotten to lock.

"Hey." Harry gave a startled cry, whirling around to see Ron standing in the doorway to his room.

"Holy fucking _christ, _Ron!"

Harry yelled, running a hand through his hair and breathing hard. "You scared the _shit _out of me." Ron smiled with an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, man. I've been waiting here for the last hour. Where'd you go after school?" Harry walked past Ron into his room, setting his bag down on the mattress.

"Dance shop. I have to buy some stuff. Get this, a whole dance outfit with shoes and tights and everything costs a _hundred dollars_. I'll be working it off at the shop, though, so at least I won't have to explain that one to Vernon," Harry said while unpacking his bag. Ron didn't answer him right away, and Harry looked up, his hands freezing in place when he saw his best friend's somber stare.

"Um...Dean got into some shit with Seam today." Harry continued to look at Ron, waiting. The redhead flopped down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. "Seamus came into the shop about four hours ago freaking out because Dean never showed up for some lunch date they had or whatever. Dean wouldn't answer his phone, and no one had seen him since early this morning. Everyone's out looking right now, but there hasn't been anything. Seam's like...freaking the fuck out."

"Dean's Army boys say anything about it?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head.

"Naw. No one knows where the guy is. This kid named Collin...Collin um..."

"Creevy. I know him," Harry said. Ron nodded.

"Yeah, that kid. For some reason he thinks that Dean disappeared around Death Eater territory...he um...he said that you..." Ron trailed off, looking to Harry with an apologetic look. Harry sighed.

"He told you guys I knew the area better than anyone. You want my help," he stated. Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Come on, Harry. I know you don't like this gang stuff, and neither do I, but we can't just leave everyone to the dogs because we got out of all that. He's our friend," the redhead said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I never said I wouldn't help, Ron. God. Let me get dressed in some better clothes and then I'll help."

"You'll look around DE territory?" Harry nodded in answer, rooting around in his boxes for a black outfit.

"I'm coming with you. George and Fred, too," Ron insisted. Harry shook his head, stripping off the clothes he was wearing and quickly replacing them with a large black sweatshirt and worn black jeans. From the box near his bed Harry took a tube of black paint and squirted a bit onto his finger. He stood up and left the room, heading into the bathroom.

"If I'm going in there, Ron, I'm going alone. You're not coming," he called from the bathroom. Ron followed his best friend, leaning on the doorframe and watching while Harry smeared the black paint around his eyes. With his black hair, outfit, pale skin, and blackened eye sockets, Ron thought Harry looked like a skeleton, his face a bone-dry skull.

"Bullshit. I'm not letting you go in there by yourself."

"It's safer when I'm alone."

"The fuck it is, Harry!" Ron shouted. Harry glared at him, green eyes blazing beneath the black makeup.

"Ron, trust me. I'll be fine. Like Colin said, I know that area better than anyone—including you. I know how the Death Eater's work, I know them all by name and face, I know their strengths and weaknesses...and I have a bit of sway with a few of them." Ron raised his eyebrows and Harry gave him a look that said not to ask. "Besides, I'll just wander around and listen, okay? If I get any word on Dean I'll call—oh yeah, I'll need someone's cell, I guess." Harry massaged his hands, rubbing the fine fracture points from the beating Vernon gave him, and hoping he wouldn't have to do anything too crazy tonight—otherwise his hands wouldn't heal well.

"You can take Fred's," Ron answered instantly. Harry flipped the hood of the sweatshirt over his head and pulled it down low. The shadows the bathroom lights cast on his face enhanced the dark clothing and makeup. "You look just like them, you know?" Ron whispered.

"I've had practice," Harry whispered in reply, turning the bathroom light off and following Ron back into his room. Harry put his shoes back on his feet, grabbing a marker from his nightstand box and refreshing the old markings that turned his off-white converse rubber to sharpie-black. Ron left the room and Harry heard him calling Fred.

Harry shoved his hands in the sweatshirt pocket, wringing them together beneath the worn fabric. Fucking Dean. Fucking Death Eaters and the Army and gangs and kidnappings. Fuck it all.

…

George bit his lip, glancing between his twin, Ron, Seamus, Colin, and Harry.

"I don't like this," he announced. They were sitting in the living room of Vernon's apartment, Harry sitting on the floor fiddling with Fred's phone, setting it to silent mode. "First of all, if the Death Eaters get a hold of you, they won't let you go—not a second time. And it's not like they've forgotten, right?" he asked Harry.

"Right," Harry said absently, still playing with the cell phone.

"So if you get caught, you either become a Death Eater or you disappear.... and don't show up again. We aren't positive that Dean is even _with _them—"

"That's where he was last seen, according to the boys, though. There's a good chance Dean's with them," Colin interjected. Harry looked up, his eyes bloodshot from the smears of black makeup around them. He blinked to clear dry makeup chips from his eyes.

"Okay. I'm a little out of all this. Seam, you came to me a while ago asking if I wanted in on something good—remember?" Seamus nodded. "And now Dean goes snooping around the DEs and goes missing. You gotta tell me what's up, Seam, so I know what to listen for," Harry said. Seamus shrugged and stopped chewing on his nails to answer the black-haired boy.

"Dean told me a week ago he was into somethin' big. Not drugs, although I thought it was for a while. He got a few of us guys in on it, made us swear into the deal before he told us what we would be dealing, right? So I swear in and a couple other random boys from the Army do too, Colin included, and he tells us that we're working with handguns," Seamus says, running a shaking hand through his short hair.

"Oh _fuck_, Dean," Harry swore. "What in _fuck's _name was he _thinking?!"_

"Yeah. That's pretty much what I asked him," Fred said dryly.

"Doesn't he know weapons are the Death Eater's thing? They have the monopoly, easily, with all their mafia connections. Dean never had a chance," Harry said. Seamus sighed, now bouncing his knee up and down. Harry sensed a drug fit coming on unless Seamus shot up soon. He wondered if he had any clean needles lying around.

"Dean was going to do it with a different base than the DEs. New people to pawn the weapons off to, no communication to the DEs...he was gonna keep it all quiet," Seamus continued.

"But that didn't work out, so now we're here and he's missing, and Harry's about to risk his fucking life prodding around DE territory. We _know _the Death Eaters are going to be crawling everywhere tonight," George snapped, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch, glaring at Harry.

"Yeah, but they won't be looking for me. They're looking for Seam and the other guys from the Army—not me."

"You really don't think it'll cross their minds?" Fred asked. Harry shrugged.

"I'm willing to bet, I guess. I mean, I made it pretty clear two years ago that I was done with all of that. I don't spend much time in anyone's territory anymore, and a lot of the new DEs probably don't know me," Harry answered.

"You said earlier you knew all the DEs by name and face," Ron pointed out.

"Most of them, yeah. Not the new ones, although I don't have to be worried about them. They're easy to pick out—fucking scared all the time, take orders without a fight," Harry smirked, his skeleton face distorted by the lights and makeup. George was still glaring at him, not consoled.

"You haven't forgotten about school in the morning, right?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"I'll be a little late to first period if I have to be. Dean's my friend, George."

"School is your _life_," George snapped.

"I know, George. I'm not _planning_ on being late in the morning, really. I don't think it'll take me much more than five or six hours after I head out at dark. That'll mean I'll get back around one or two. Not bad." George didn't look happy about it, but didn't protest further. Ron sat up.

"Okay. Let's lay this down. We need a new place to hang, 'cause we don't know when Vernon'll be home. The Bakery's out, so is Colin's. Where else?"

"That place on 13th C, the one we broke into a couple years ago? It's empty now and the lock's been broken for months, plus it's only a block outside of Death Eater jurisdiction," Fred spoke up.

"Alright then, we'll all go down there with gear. Harry leaves with Fred's phone at eight and does his thing. If _anything _happens," Ron looked straight at his best friend, "you call either Seamus or George and we'll come in there blowing peoples' heads off. If you find Dean, don't try and get him out unless you think he's in immediate danger, or if they're planning on moving him somewhere else. If you find him, call us and tell someone where he is, so we know even if you get caught." Fred leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

"You have seven hours to be back at the building on C, okay? If you're not back by three in the morning we'll call—if you don't answer we come in. We'll pack a bag of supplies in case you come back missing an arm or something—" George elbowed his twin, hard.

"Don't even fucking joke, man," he said. Turning to Harry, he added to his brother's instructions. "Go in there, and then get the fuck out. I don't care if you don't find _anything_. Get out as soon as possible and get back to us." Harry nodded and stood up, pocketing Fred's phone and going back into his room.

"What are you bringing with you?" Ron called from his spot in the living room.

"Gun, a couple knives, set of knuckles," Harry answered as he gathered the weapons from inside his mattress. He hadn't used his gun since his gang days, but it was well oiled and cleaned, and Harry was still confident in his aim. He checked the clip and clicked the safety on before shoving it into his waistband. His switchblade was dropped into a back pocket with the knuckles. When he went back into the living room Seamus handed him his own knife, and Harry put it into a pocket on the side of his left knee. When the black-haired teen looked around at his friends he saw several other weapons in their hands. Fred and George had their small handguns palmed, Ron was dangling a pair of brass knuckles from his pointer finger, and Colin and Seamus were playing with knives. "Isn't this fun?" Harry remarked dryly, smiling. George glared at him, but Seamus gave him a grin and blew a kiss.

"Of course, dearest. Shall we?" he motioned toward the door.

* * *

Thanks for reading, as always. I'm so sorry I can't reply to your great reviews—I'm just incredibly busy. I'll try harder to get back to some of you, though.

Wykkyd


	13. Infiltration

CHAPTER 13

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or associated characters or plotlines. Imagine that.

**A/N: **I promised several of you that I would have this story updated last week. Unfortunately, when I moved back into my dorm I forgot my laptop charger and wasn't able to spend much more than five minutes on my laptop because I needed to save the batteries for a few assignments due the first week. So I'm sorry that I didn't hold up my word (blame my forgetful memory, it's hilarious how much important stuff I forgot at home!).

However, I think this chapter was worth the wait. One of my favorites so far!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Infiltration**

"Harry, wait!" George called just before Harry shut the door behind him. Harry didn't turn around, but he did pause until George caught up to him. The two of them walked out together and George pulled Harry against a small alcove in the wall, gently pushing the sweatshirt hood from the smaller boy's head. He felt Harry's jaw clench when his fingers traced the teen's jaw, lingering much longer than necessary.

"If you're not comfortable with this, we can still call the whole thing off," George whispered, his eyes staring intently at his friend.

"I volunteered, George, in case you don't remember," Harry drawled in a whisper. George bit his lip.

"Harry..."

"I know, George. It's okay, really. I know what I'm doing, remember?" he asked. The redhead nodded.

"The Death Eaters are dangerous, Harry, probably more so than the last time you dealt with them," George mentioned.

"I've considered that. But Tommy-boy's still in charge, and he's not one to change much about protocol. They're the same size as they were two years ago, some oldies are out and some newbies are in. They still have two circles of members; Tommy still has his five or so little bitches at his beck and call. They use the same marking, the same weapons. I'm sure the buildings have changed, but really, I keep tabs on them like everyone else does. I've got this," Harry assured. George continued to stare at him, concerned and frustrated. He absentmindedly realized his right hand was still resting on Harry's shoulder, his left gripping the teen's waist.

Harry stepped further into George's embrace, wrapping his thin arms around the taller boy and pressing his face against the redhead's chest, careful not to smear his makeup. George sighed and wrapped both arms firmly around Harry, bending down to lightly brush his lips against the side of Harry's neck. He didn't think Harry would actually notice, but then the dancer shifted and slid his hands up George's chest, one cupping his cheek and the other gripping his shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment before George leaned in and captured Harry's lips, his heart pounding in fear, arousal, and excitement.

Harry responded instantly, standing on his tiptoes and hooking both elbows behind George's neck. The redhead plundered Harry's mouth, backing into the wall and pulling Harry with him, lifting the dancer's legs until they were wrapped around his own waist. Harry's strong thighs squeezed George's hips while his tongue curled around the redhead's, heartbeats resonating in both their heads. After a long moment George drew his lips from Harry's, looking over his shoulder at the empty street.

"I need to get out there," Harry whispered, resting his head on George's shoulder.

"Don't be a hero, okay? Just do your job," George pleaded. He felt Harry nod. Satisfied, the redhead lowered the dancer to the ground and pulled the black hood over Harry's head.

"I'll see you in a few hours, George," Harry said with a small smile, adjusting his hood.

George watched Harry's back as he walked away. The dancer's black outfit blended into the darkness, but his skin turned a translucent, glowing, white under the dim streetlights. The black eye sockets all but hid his eyes, the skull appearance eerily realistic. Harry had never been the best fighter in Dean's Army, but he knew how to blend in, stay out of sight, and move through streets without anyone seeing him. It had always been Harry's job to tail people, track them, find them, or lose them. He had probably gotten into and out of all the gangs in the area at some point—the Death Eaters included. George knew Harry knew what he was doing, but it wasn't enough for him to be okay with it. He couldn't think of a more dangerous situation for the black-haired teen.

George rubbed his eyes and sighed, walking back into the building. Seamus eyed him up as he entered, grinning while injecting something into his arm via needle.

"You getting hot 'n heavy with the H-bomb?" he asked, laughing at his own joke. Fred smirked at his twin, and Ron turned away with a blush.

"Gross," the younger redhead moaned. "That's just _sick_."

"I think you're jealous," Colin joked with a wink in George's direction.

"How was he?" Fred asked. George looked at his brother incredulously.

"_What? You _interested now?" Fred held up his hands, laughing.

"No! I mean how was he with all this," Fred clarified, waving his hands around the room they were all hiding out in. George leaned back into the dusty and stained couch, kicking two aluminum cans away from his feet.

"He seems confident enough, but you know Harry. He's a good actor," George said, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging. "This is so not good."

"Ah chill out, man, H-bomb's good at this shit!" Seamus exclaimed. George glared at the Irish kid.

"Shut the fuck up, Seam. All you're doing to help out here is getting fucked up," he snapped. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, guys. Let's not do this here, okay? Seam, just shut the fuck up and George, give Harry a bit of credit," he mediated. George gave an angry glance to Seamus, but didn't comment further, settling on glaring at the wall. Fred looked at his tense twin, lost in thoughts about George and Harry possibly dating. Ron was thinking less supportive thoughts about his brother and best friend, but most of his thoughts revolving around Harry were concerned with the current situation.

…

Harry readjusted his hood, his eyes peeled for any movement in the shadows that might be made by a Death Eater. His outfit and makeup kept everyone else off his back; Harry noticed people avoiding him, looking away and crossing the street so as not to pass by him. Death Eaters were well known for their ruthlessness and violence—most cops even let Death Eater crimes slide for fear of retribution.

He had been formulating a plan since Ron told him hours ago that the Army needed his help. Now he was making his way towards the middle of Death Eater territory, hoping to find someplace to listen in on a conversation between gang members. If the Death Eaters had Dean, that's all they would be talking about, especially if they were newer members.

Harry hoped it wouldn't come to a confrontation, but if it did, he wasn't ill-prepared. He could feel his and Seamus' knives in his pockets, and the pair of knuckles he had re-located to his sweatshirt pocket for an easy draw. The pressure of the warm gun against his hip was comforting. And if everything went to hell, there was always the mark and Tom and his own quick thinking.

The black-haired teen never stopped moving, gracefully shadow-hopping while looking for anyone with skull makeup on. The deeper Harry walked into the Death Eater's territory, the quieter the streets got. It was easily the seediest area of Thirteenth District: only the worst criminals and the toughest gang members were brave enough to go within a block of what everyone in the district called Deathly Hallow.

Deathly Hallow. Home of the Death Eaters and Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry jumped as Fred's phone in his pocket buzzed softly. He pulled it out, careful to hold the screen so the light didn't fall on his face, instead lighting up the wall behind him. The number wasn't recognizable, and no name showed up on the screen. Harry hoped it was some friend of Fred's who didn't know what was going on, but he was still left with a feeling of foreboding.

Harry caught a flash of white and black out of the corner of his eye, and he stashed his phone, whirling around. The street was the same as it had been before the phone rang; the same passed-out man on the corner, the two men huddled together several meters away. Harry kept walking, heading in the direction of what used to be Tom's headquarters. Harry had heard through the grapevine that Tom changed headquarters for the Death Eaters every six months or so—but he knew that wasn't true. There was way too much hassle in moving a headquarters, even to do it every year. Information had to be moved, stock relocated and covered up, money re-laundered. Tom's business was far greater than the Death Eaters and the smuggled weapons, Harry knew. There was too much risk in moving all the merchandise and stock from an old building to a new one. Cops who were already watching the comings and goings of Tom Riddle would pick up on it instantly. No, there was only one headquarters for Tom Marvolo Riddle, and it was Godric's Pub.

The pub was as decrepit as Harry remembered, but from his spot in between two pillars he could see that he had been right—it was still headquarters to Tom Riddle and his inner circle of Death Eaters. There were two gang members milling around outside the building, appearing casual, as if they weren't guarding the place. One he recognized from two years ago—a thin man known as McNair. The other was larger: Goyle, although Harry was used to calling him Gargoyle.

Harry let out an annoyed sigh. If Tom put McNair and Goyle on post, it meant Dean wasn't in Godric's, because McNair and Goyle weren't a threat to anyone with quick feet. Carefully shielding the light from Fred's phone, Harry glanced at the time. 8:45. Nine o'clock would bring about the 'changing of the guard'. With any luck Goyle would remain and Crabbe would relieve McNair: Harry remembered Crabbe and Goyle doing almost everything together. He was pretty confident he could risk exposure to Goyle and Crabbe, enough to either gain entrance to the building or at least talk to them about whatever they might know. The two men's brains put together didn't equal a fourth of anyone elses.

Harry crouched down silently, content to wait it out and see who would show up to replace either man. For now he could listen and hope that either Goyle was drunk enough or McNair was high enough to talk about something stupid.

"So...what are you doing tonight?" Goyle asked in his dull monotone, lighting up a cigarette. Harry held his breath, praying for a slip up.

"Voldemort's sending me downtown. Something about weapons that we need to get a hold of," McNair answered. Harry wondered if Dean had been dealing downtown.

"Downtown? Since when have we done business down there?"

"Fuck if I know. I just do as I'm told, same as you."

"Have you seen Voldemort tonight? I had something to ask him about," Goyle wondered.

"Old Voldie ain't in, tonight, pumpkin," McNair drawled. "He's either hanging 'round Banner or Cab Street, I'd say." Harry saw Goyle's head nod, followed by a flash of cigarette ashes and a puff of smoke.

Well, at least Harry knew where else he would be spending time that night.

McNair's comment proved the most useful thing Harry learned from snooping around Godric's, as it wasn't Crabbe who relieved McNair, but some newbie who relieved Goyle. While the fat man was exchanging words with the new guard and McNair, Harry slipped silently from his post and crept around the corner, heading to Banner Street. Banner was hotspot for the Death Eaters, along with Cab Street, Azzie Alley, and the locally-dubbed Riot Park. Harry was sure he would encounter more Death Eaters at any one of these places, as the area around Godric's was pretty dead. Fitting, he supposed, for someplace nicknamed the Deathly Hallows.

Feelings of unease swarmed around Harry as he neared Banner and still hadn't seen one Death Eater. Unless Tom called a gang-wide meeting, the members were usually out patrolling or working at night, and Harry knew there wasn't a meeting tonight because McNair and Goyle would have been on the guest list. After another three minutes of Death-Eater-free travel, Harry found the source of his suspicion.

He heard the car coming from at least two blocks off: the streets were quiet enough that Harry's ears picked up every audible sound. He didn't expect the car to suddenly accelerate and swerve around the corner he had been nearing, the squealing of tires shocking his eardrums as headlights blinded his eyes. Out of instinct, Harry raised an arm to cover his face, hoping that the car didn't belong to a Death Eater, or even worse, Tom himself. The car skidded to a stop, and Harry's right hand flew into his pocket, fingers swiftly clicking the safety off the gun.

"Police! Lower your arm!" _Oh, fuck, _Harry thought. He would have preferred his chances with Tom. "Lower your arm!" came the repeated demand, and Harry did as he was asked. The headlights seemed less bright now, and Harry could make out the silhouettes of three officers. He didn't see any raised guns. "Get on the ground!"

"I haven't _done _anything!" Harry protested, and then it clicked. Death Eaters were arrested on sight. Guilty until proven innocent. And he looked just like a Death Eater tonight. _Oh fuck._

Harry wasn't coming up with many options. Either go to jail or try and run. So he ran.

The cops were quick to follow; Harry heard one get in the car and two running after him. Tugging his hood further over his head, Harry looked up to gain his bearings. He was a block away from Banner Street by now, three blocks away from Cab Street, and five away from Azzie Alley. Riot Park was too near a cop shop to risk escape too. Harry counted the buildings he ran past, eyeing the slim alleys that separated them. _Three...Banner Broadcasting...Four...Twenty-Four-Hour Tat...Five...Diamond Rich..._Harry banked a hard left, disappearing into the alley along Diamond Rich and running the length until he hit the dead end.

It was pitch black in the alley, and Harry only knew he had reached the end because he saw a small glow-in-the-dark splash of paint that had once been pointed out to him. Just above the paint there was a ladder missing the first four rungs. Harry jumped up and grabbed the seventh rung, swung his legs up, and continued climbing. When he was reasonably high the black-haired teen risked a look back, smirking to himself when he saw the outlines of the two cops at the entrance of the alley, not sure whether to proceed into what could be an ambush. No longer threatened, Harry climbed at a more leisurely pace until he reached the window on the tenth floor. Unlike he had remembered, the window was shut and locked. Glancing back to the cops, Harry made sure they were gone before he pulled the gun from his pocket and smashed the hilt into the window. The glass shattered without much effort, and Harry hauled himself into the unused building.

Using Fred's phone as a flashlight Harry maneuvered down five flights of stairs, until he got reception. He dialed George's number after listening carefully for any odd noises, sitting down on a step and pushing his sweatshirt hood off.

"_Harry? What's wrong?" _George's concerned voice came through after half a ring. Harry lay back against the stairs. "_Where are you?"_

"The fifth floor of Diamond Rich's. You know that old jewelry factory or whatever the fuck it was eons ago?" Harry replied.

"_You're on speakerphone. What's going on?" _Fred spoke up.

"Stopped by Godric's and overheard Gargoyle and McNair talking about Tom possibly hanging around Banner or Cab Street. So I took off at nine to Banner, but got creeped out when I didn't see any Death Eaters in the area. Turns out there were cops patrolling the area, and that's why everyone had cleared the fuck out."

"_Cops?" _Ron asked, his voice scratchy through the speakers.

"Yeah. Three of them in one car. It wasn't too big of a deal, I probably should have been more wary of the car when I heard it. That's why I'm in Rich's right now."

"_What's your game plan?" _George asked.

"I'm going to break out of the back, which puts me on the east side of Banner. From there I'll book it to Cab Street. If I don't find anything there I'm going to hit up Azzie and maybe Riot Park, if the cops split. Any news on your end?" he asked.

"_No. Are you sure you're okay?" _George pressed.

"Just peachy, George. I'm gonna go; get this over with."

"_Be careful," _Ron advised. Harry hung up and stood, once again moving down the stairs.

Harry didn't run into any more cops on his way to Cab Street, and once he was within two blocks of the street he caught easy glimpses of the made-up Death Eaters that had been eluding him all night. They were patrolling certain buildings, walking and talking in huddles, cleaning weapons, selling and buying...all right there on the street.

"Overconfident bastards," Harry whispered under his breath, pulling his hood up. The streetlights were in relatively good condition along Cab Street and they cast bright beams that lit the whole street. There were very few shadows for him to hide in, so Harry shoved his hands in his pocket, tucked his head down just a bit, and walked out into the open street.

No one paid Harry an unusual amount of attention as he walked down the street, just off the sidewalk. He caught flashes of unimportant conversation, talk about weed deals across the district and mixed heroin in toothpaste tubes and HIV scares.

"Hey you!" Harry didn't turn around until he felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. He stopped walking and lifted his head enough to see the person standing next to them. They weren't a part of the gang, but Harry assumed they had some business with the Death Eaters or else they wouldn't be here.

"Yeah?" he drawled, his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

"Which way to Riddle?" the guy asked. Harry gave him an incredulous look.

"How about you tell me? I haven't seen the guy all night," he replied.

"I heard he was on Cab Street," the man said.

"Yeah, well I heard he was on Banner, Azzie, Riot Park, and Godric's, okay? Fuck off," Harry snapped, shrugging the man's hand off his shoulder. The guy ambled away with a soft curse. Harry continued on, puzzled as to Tom's absence. Normally people knew where he was—he wasn't one of those powerful people who had to sneak around in fear of the cops or anything. Something was up, but no one was talking about it. Harry took another look around, now on the other end of the street. Most of the Death Eaters he could see were either second circle members or newbies that he wasn't familiar with. He didn't see one person from the inner circle. _Three down, two to go_, Harry thought to himself, walking around the corner toward Azzie Alley.

Azzie turned into Harry's jackpot. Just as Cab Street was filled with low-ranked members, Azzie Alley was where almost the entire inner circle had gathered. The lights on Azzie were mostly broken, casting large shadows for Harry to walk in. He was grateful, because inner circle members would either be able to recognize him by face or notice something was off about him.

The neon clock on the wall of the bar read ten fifty, and Harry noticed many of the inner circle members filing into the doorway just underneath the clock. The last Death Eater to enter flipped the glowing 'open' sign off, hot tubes of neon, xenon, and argon going cold. Harry crossed the street out of sight from the bar, and walked closer, looking in the window. He couldn't see anything from his position at the corner of the building, so he casually walked along the sidewalk in front of the bar, looking in with his peripheral vision.

The Death Eaters were sitting at various tables around the bar; there were no regular customers seated anywhere. A man Harry instantly recognized as Tom Riddle was sitting on the bar counter, talking calmly to his trusted gang members. Harry reached the other side of the building and looked around the street. There were several people walking around, but no one Harry felt was a threat.

"Hey kid! Get outta here!" someone called. Harry turned around, noticed the man wasn't a Death Eater, and raised his head, letting the lights from the bar fall onto his skull-like face. The man backed off, holding his hands up. "Nevermind, my bad," he mumbled, and Harry glared at him for a moment before turning around and walking through the small space in between buildings, heading for the back door to the bar. He half expected the back door to either be locked or guarded, but it was neither.

After entering cautiously, Harry found himself in a small storage room. There was a slim hall with several doors branching off it that led to the bar, and then, just as he expected, a staircase leading up to the second story. He ascended the stairs, his ears listening hard for any noise other than the soft murmuring he heard from the bar below.

Harry hadn't anticipated breaking into a Death Eater meeting tonight, but he didn't see any other option. Inner circle members didn't talk about things on the streets for fear of people like Harry or undercover cops who were purposefully listening for information, and the second circle members didn't know about what was going on. Even so, Harry didn't like his new position as he settled himself among cases of Absolute and Smirnoff and pressed his ear to the thin floorboards.

The conversation was still muffled, but Harry was able to hear most of what the Death Eaters were saying, and all of what Riddle was saying. Half an hour into the meeting Harry shifted around the bottles of vodka and listened with the other ear pressed to the floor. With his eye on the clock in Fred's phone, Harry watched an hour go by, and then another half hour before anything of real interest was mentioned.

"_Who's meeting Gargoyle downtown?"_ Tom asked.

"_I told you I'd be there. Crabbe and Goyle are too stupid not to fuck the transfer up." _

"_And what about the kid?"_ Harry held his breath.

"_He's still with Crabbe, as far as I know."_

"_Will he be downtown?"_

"_That's where Crabbe says to put him. The kid said his pussy gang didn't know where the deal was taking place, so if he stays downtown, or at least out of the district, we don't have to deal with a bunch of little kids snooping around."_

"_If we keep the kid with the deal, then the money man ends up with the kid's gang, right?"_

"_That's his plan," _Riddle answered, "_but we don't care about the kid and the Army. My friend is paying a lot for the whole deal and we don't gain anything by keeping the kid."_

"_Just out of curiosity...What's gonna happen to the kid now?"_

"_He's staying in the basement until his little Army members want to go and find him. My friend will contact them whenever is most beneficial, I'm sure. That's all out of my hands, though. Avery, did you get ahold of Mr. Steppe?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Good. Is there anything else?" _Harry heard nothing. _"Let's get the fuck out of here._ _Bella, search the building and lock it up. Everyone, get off the streets—cops are out again."_ Harry jolted upright, searching madly for a place that would hide him from Lestrange. Aside from the boxes and bottles of alcohol, Harry didn't see anyplace to hid. He heard the door to the bar open on the first floor as Death Eaters left the building, and heard light footsteps walking back to the storage room connected to the staircase. Desperate, Harry jumped behind a stack of boxes and arranged them around himself so he was hidden from three sides. Heeled shoes clicked up the staircase and the light clicked on.

Harry didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't think, until the light turned off again and the heeled shoes clicked down the stairs. Even then he remained where he was, unsure if the bar was truly vacant. He didn't need a run-in with Tom tonight, on top of everything.

When the bar had been deathly silent for almost thirty minutes Harry crept from his hiding place as quietly as possible and moved across the room to the stairs. He had briefly entertained the thought of stealing two bottles of booze, but didn't dwell on it. They would most likely be stolen from him on the street anyway.

Harry felt his way down the stairs; even his adjusted eyes couldn't pick out any detail in the pitch-darkness. Once he had reached the storage room Harry could see a small red light blinking to the right of the door. Alarm. After listening intently for any extra noise and hearing none, Harry pulled out Fred's phone and shone the pale light on the supposed alarm. It was, indeed, an alarm, but Harry didn't know if it was set to go off only when someone entered the building, or if it would go off when someone exited as well. He looked at the phone's screen to check the time. 12:20. He had been out for four and a half hours of adrenaline-infused infiltration.

Harry decided to risk it, and mentally mapped out the area behind the bar, remembering the quickest route of escape. With his plan in mind, Harry pushed the back door open, and didn't stay around long enough to hear if the alarm went off or not.

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Thanks for reading, and sorry about the wait. I hope all of you had an awesome break from school or work or whatever else!

On another note: Harry and George are not the main coupling of this story. Really. I promise. Please don't freak out at me because you don't them paired together or whatever. It's not that big of a deal in the story and it doesn't last long at all.

Leave a review or comment if you feel like it!

Wykkyd


	14. Work It Out

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or related characters. Shocking, I know.

**A/N: **Hello again everyone! Lucky for this story, I survived midterms! Now that I have a small break I'm updating. I'm really sorry about the slow pace of this story as far as chapter updates go, and I'm incredibly thankful to all of you readers who prod me into updating just a bit faster, those who review and send me messages and all that good stuff. Really, it helps get these chapters posted faster! Enjoy this next one.

**

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Work It Out**

Harry wasn't late to school the morning after he spent the night in Death Eater territory, although he was exhausted. It had been almost one in the morning by the time he reached the building where Ron, Fred, George, and Seamus were waiting. Colin had gone home around twelve, apparently. Everyone was immensely relieved when Harry stumbled into the building, alive and uninjured, but the relief faded when Harry told them what he had overheard at Tom's meeting. Dean was missing, and it seemed like he would remain missing until some unknown person contacted the Army...whenever that would be. Harry had been willing to stay and discuss their next step, but George and Fred insisted he get home. George acted as escort, walking Harry back to Vernon's apartment. They didn't talk about the kiss they shared earlier, both too preoccupied with other thoughts.

"Psst! Harry...wake up!" the girl sitting next to him in class hissed, prodding his shoulder. Harry jerked his head up, giving her a smile of thanks and turning back to the head of the classroom, where Mrs. Granger was lecturing. He head was killing him, he was sore from running his ass off and climbing up ladders all last night, and he could hardly keep his eyes open, not to mention that all his friends here at Hogwarts thought he was either anorexic or on drugs. And, as Madam Pomfrey mentioned earlier this morning, his one-month deadline was coming up next week, when Sirius Black came back. Harry put his head back on the desk.

By the time Harry had slogged through his ballet class and world history he was considering telling the nurse he was sick so that he could go home. The only thing that stopped him was the chemistry test he had to take sixth period, and Snape's wrath if he had to make up the test on Friday. Deciding not to play hookie, Harry stashed his books in his locker and put his sweatshirt on over the dance clothes he had been too lazy to change out of.

Harry had gotten about four hours of restless sleep the night before, but never bothered changing out of his Death Eater clothes. If it weren't for George reminding him about the makeup he had been wearing Harry probably would have worn it to school without realizing. Even so, the black he had smeared around his eye sockets had stained his skin enough to make him look dead, and Harry still found flecks of dried makeup on his face when he looked in the mirror.

Harry stumbled down the hall, pulling his hood up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He tried to keep his walk a little more upbeat, but gave up soon after and let his feet literally drag on the floor. He entered the first dance studio on the second floor, paying little attention to the three dancers who were stretching through lunch, and made a beeline for the small couch at the back of the studio. The black-haired dancer sank down onto the couch, kicking his shoes off and lifting his legs onto the cushions before lying down. He curled into the large sweatshirt for warmth, hoping the teacher would wake him before Ballroom started.

…

Sirius Black was coming back in two days, on Saturday, six days ahead of schedule. Severus had enjoyed every Black-free day of his life, until the last two weeks where he actually wished Black was here, if only to deal with the enigma that was Harry Potter.

With another pursing of his lips that doubled as a smile, Severus pushed the power button once and stacked several papers on the corner of his desk while waiting for the computer to enter sleep mode. When the screen faded to black the chemistry professor rose, donned his jacket, and proceeded out of his room. As he neared the door, Draco came hurdling through it, his grey eyes wide.

"," he blurted out, coming to a stop and straightening his outfit. Severus raised an eyebrow, continuing on his way and brushing past his godson.

"Try English next time, Draco," he suggested. The blond violinist gave an annoyed sigh.

"What's up with Potter? Doug said something was wrong with him in History last period...I actually thought he might be in here, because no one can find him," Draco explained.

"What makes you think _I _would know the whereabouts of Mr. Potter?" Severus asked, looking to the tall boy walking in stride with him.

"Pomfrey suggested it, actually."

"What was wrong with Potter in History?"

"Doug said he looked pretty dead on his feet. Tired or something, but _really _tired," Draco said. Severus sighed, stopping his brisk walk. Draco stopped beside him.

"Perhaps he had a late night last night, doing the homework he's been putting off all week, or with any luck, studying for the exam he has today," he drawled. Draco scowled.

"So you don't know where he is?" Severus shook his head.

"I do not. Now, I am going to take lunch, and you should do the same." With that, Severus resumed his walk to the teachers' lounge, shaking his head. Draco was infatuated with the boy, yes, but did he have to make it so _obvious? _Lord, what if Lucius found out?

Draco continued to glare at his unhelpful godfather for a moment before turning around and going back to the second floor. Doug said he already checked the locker rooms and the practice rooms, but Draco was compelled to double check.

Draco didn't really mind his attachment to Harry, even thought it was very foreign to him. He had never really felt like he wanted to...god...take _care _of someone before, but then again, he had never met anyone like Harry, either. The boy was kind of a walking disaster, but a graceful one, someone who seemed to catch himself every time something disastrous happened and just carry on like it was no big deal. Since his first glance at Harry, Draco had been able to appreciate the obvious looks of the dancer, but now that he knew him a bit more, the finer points of the boy's beauty were less subtle. The way his green eyes sparkled when he was excited, glowed when he was angry, dulled when he was sad. The way he walked down the halls—with a boy's natural testosterone, but with a dancer's grace and a new kid's shyness.

Doug had been right: Harry wasn't in the locker rooms. _Where else?_ Draco thought, leaning Harry's locker, which was only several meters away from the boys' locker room.

"S'up, Malfoy?" a boy asked, opening the locker right next to Harry's and putting a dance bag in it. Draco stood upright.

"Looking for Harry, you seen him?" the boy—Draco thought his name was Alan—eyed him up, wondering what he wanted with Potter, no doubt.

"Sure. He's in Studio One. The little black blob on the couch."

"Fucking finally," Draco breathed in relief. "Thanks, Alan."

"No prob."

Draco walked quickly to the dance studio and wrenched open the doors, his eyes falling on the 'black blob' instantly. Harry was curled into a ball on the couch, his worn shoes on the floor, bare feet poking out of long dance pants. Draco caught a bit of black hair protruding from the hood of the sweatshirt Harry had put on, and deduced Harry's head to be on that side of the teen. The senior sat down on the couch, gently putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and uncurling him. The dancer gave a small protest and attempted to re-curl himself, but Draco wouldn't have it.

"Harry...wake up," he whispered, pushing the hood off the boy's head and brushing black bangs out of his face.

"Draco? Is it time for class?" Harry asked, opening one eye.

"No, you have another half hour. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he answered honestly.

"I thought I told you to give me some space. Yesterday, was it?" Harry asked, although he didn't sound angry. Draco lifted his hand from Harry's head.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay: Doug said you slept through most of history."

"Yeah...'m tired..." Harry murmured, putting his head back down on the couch. Draco let out a rush of air: a soft laugh.

"I can see that. Just wanted to—"

"Make sure I was okay. Yeah. I'm fine...just tired," Harry paused, and Draco almost got up to leave, but then he saw Harry open his mouth again to speak. "Um...thanks, I guess. For, you know, checking on me," the small teen whispered, his cheeks blushing a faint pink. Draco reached out and ran a thumb under Harry's right eye, wiping away chips of what looked like black paint. He noticed Harry's faint flinch at his unexpected touch, but didn't react to it.

"You're welcome, Harry. I'll leave...I know you wanted space," he said softy, making to get up and leave his friend alone. Before he was completely standing, Draco felt Harry grab his wrist, and he looked down to Harry's green eyes.

"I...you...you don't have to go, if you don't want to, I mean. I don't...I don't mind," he said, his cheeks still pink. Draco smiled in reply, returning to his seat and running a hand through Harry's hair. The dancer didn't flinch this time. "Wait! I don't want you to skip lunch because of me...you should...you should go to—"

"I'm staying with you, Harry," Draco assured. "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you five minutes before class, and I'll get Doug to bring your dance bag." Draco felt Harry nod under his hand, and he looked down at the boy curled into a pathetic ball on the couch. "Here," Draco sighed, shifting until his back was resting against the arm of the couch, and then pulling Harry to rest on his torso. The groggy teen allowed it, despite the insinuating position, and laid his head on Draco's chest with one delicate hand resting on Draco's shoulder, falling asleep instantly. Across the room, Draco heard the two remaining dancers whispering to each other.

"I thought he was dating Pansy," the girl whispered, tugging her shoes off. The boy with her shrugged.

"Guess not. Draco Malfoy can do what he wants," he answered. Draco smiled.

Damn right.

…

Severus stopped into the first dance studio to look in on Draco and Mr. Potter—assuming their friend Doug had been telling the truth about their whereabouts. Indeed, the chemistry professor saw Draco sitting on the couch, texting on his phone, and Harry resting peacefully on his chest. He raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised the dark-haired teen would allow such a position, but left the room before Draco could look over and see him watching. Severus shook his head, thankful puberty only lasted several years. _Rampant hormones, _he thought with a roll of his dark eyes.

Draco flipped his phone shut after he read that Doug would bring Harry's dance bag to studio one before class so the dancer could don his dance shoes. Harry was still sleeping, so exhausted that after falling asleep on Draco's chest the dancer had not moved an inch. He looked so much softer, more innocent, when sleeping, Draco noticed. His eyelashes rested lightly against pale cheeks, lips parted just enough to let a hint of warm breath through, bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead. There were no snappy comments, glares, or frowns. Just...peace. The violinist sighed, gently running a long-fingered hand through Harry's hair for the seventh time since the dancer had fallen asleep. With a smile, Draco tilted his head to side to rest on the back of the couch, eyes resting calmly on the sleeping dancer.

Draco's admiring reverie was abruptly ended when his phone buzzed in his hand, Pansy's name scrolling across the screen. He flipped his phone open and read:

_drakie where R U?_

He replied:

_Practicing. Don't bother me._

She wrote:

_wanna take me 2 the movie? plz? lol_

Draco glared at his phone, trying to think of five good reasons why he was dating Pansy Parkingson. Normally it worked in situations like this, after all, they had been going out for months now and Draco hadn't broken up with her yet. He came up with: she's cute (_but the kid sleeping in my arms is gorgeous_), she's rich (_but so am I, so that doesn't really matter), _Lucius approved (_but he hadn't even met her, so it wouldn't be a big deal if he broke up with her)_, and she's talented (_but my dancer is more so). _Draco sighed. Before, Draco hadn't even seriously thought about dating Harry—first of all, he didn't know if the teen was even gay—but now that it was popping into his head, he wasn't uncomfortable with the idea. And Pansy kept getting more annoying. With a smirk, Draco texted:

_No. We're not going to the movie tonight._

A pause.

_Y not?_

_Because I am breaking up with you. Seriously, you drive me insane, darlin'._

Draco waited for almost a minute before Pansy wrote a response.

_WHAT?????!!!!! Y???? _

_I HATE U!!!_

Draco smiled and shut his phone, his free hand rubbing small circles on Harry's back. The clock on his phone read twelve twenty-three, seven minutes before class started. He dropped it on the floor to get later, and rubbed Harry's arms with both hands.

"Harry, wake up," he whispered, unsure how light of a sleeper he was. After several more moments Draco saw Harry's eyes flutter open, cautiously taking in the studio around them, and then coming to rest on Draco himself. Harry blushed and looked away, but Draco's hand shot out and gently took hold of the dancer's chin, pulling his face back to look back at him. "Didn't I tell you once that you look away too much?" Draco asked quietly, smiling. Harry smiled a bit and then glared playfully, his green eyes bright and intense.

"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked, shaking his head lightly until Draco let go. Unlike before, however, Harry's eyes stayed on the blond, scrutinizing. Draco shrugged.

"You're amazing, that's why I'm smiling," he responded, delighting in Harry's blush. "And I just broke up with Pansy," he added with a smirk. Harry pushed himself up, just a little ways off Draco's chest.

"What?!" he exclaimed. Draco smiled, loving Harry's face so close to him. He could just lean in and...

"Um...I..." Draco swallowed. "It was bound to happen. She's insane, bitchy, clingy, and we just don't get along anymore as a couple. Pansy and I were only meant to be friends. You're more then welcome to go after her if you like, don't worry about offending me," he joked. Harry looked disgusted.

"Not if you paid me," he said dryly, pushing himself further off Draco and stretching his arms above his head. The blond reveled in the sight of the dancer stretching out his relaxed muscles. His back arched beautifully and sensually, legs straight and stiff, arms ever graceful. He was seriously considered kissing Harry just then, but was relieved when Doug came into the studio with several others in the class.

"Hey guys. Harry, have a nice nap? You looked dead in history," Doug commented, tossing Harry his bag. The black-haired teen shrugged, and Draco saw him revert back to the guarded, tense, and shy Harry that he normally was.

"Yeah, I feel a little better, I guess," he said softly, pulling on his ripped and torn dance shoes and flexing his feet to warm them up. Draco and Doug watched as Harry methodically rolled up his dance pants a bit and safety-pinned them in place.

"You wanna take your sweatshirt off?" Doug asked as he extended a hand to Harry. The small teen accepted it and allowed himself to be pulled to a standing position.

"No, I'll leave it on for warm-ups," he said, putting his hands in his pocket and glancing at the head of the class, where most students and the teacher were stretching. Harry turned to Draco, his eyes on his feet. "Um...thanks, Draco," he mumbled. The blond smiled and ruffled Harry's hair.

"No problem. I gotta get to class. Have fun in ballroom," Draco said with a soft smile at the dancer. Doug rolled his eyes and drug Harry to the front of the room, grabbing Harry's bag from him and tossing it against the wall. Harry shrank back when Doug set him in front of the class.

"Um...not today, Doug," Harry said, giving his friend a glance before retreating to the back of the class. Doug watched him for a moment, biting his lip, before the teacher clapped his hands briskly and class started.

By sixth period the talk of the school was Draco and Pansy's breakup—apparently Pansy hadn't taken it very well, although Draco didn't expect her to in the first place. As Harry put his dance bag in his locker and collected his chemistry notes and textbook, whispers about the violinist and singer reached his ears from all sides. He smiled to himself, finding it funny that he had been the first person to know, aside from Draco and Pansy, that is. However, all whispers stopped dead upon entering Professor Snape's classroom: it was well known that not only did he not tolerate whispering, he also despised gossip.

Harry took his usual spot in the back of the classroom, enjoying the relative silence. The professor rose from his desk just as the bell rang, a small pile of papers in his hands. Harry noticed Snape looking his way; Snape's dark eyes staring furiously, and Harry looked away, nervously playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. He didn't look up until the exam was slammed on his desk. Harry drew out his pencil and resisted tapping it on the desk. Several days ago the professor had caught someone else tapping their pencil—he broke it in half, and it hadn't been one of the cheap wooden ones that Harry used. The dancer sat frozen in his chair until the professor announced that his students could begin.

Harry worked through the exam, skipping problems that would take him too long to complete, and then going back to them when he had completed the simpler problems. By the time Snape ordered everyone to put down their pencils, Harry was fairly satisfied with his exam, although he was sure the professor would not be. Harry handed his test to Snape without making eye contact. When the bell rang Harry dropped his pencil in his bag and rose from his seat, desperate to make it out of the room before Neville came over and asked him if he was alright or something, but a large hand latched onto his elbow, holding him in place.

Harry couldn't help his violent flinch, and he was positive that Snape had felt it, although the professor did not mention it. Harry whirled around, fighting to assure himself it was only professor Snape, and no matter how angry the man looked, he would not hit him. The dancer forced his breathing to even out.

"Potter. Look at me," Snape commanded sharply, and Harry slowly brought his eyes up to meet Snape's. He saw his professor's hand snake out to grab his chin and no doubt force his face upward, but Harry took a step back, shrinking away from the hand. Snape pursed his lips and dropped Harry's elbow. "I merely wanted to look at your face," the professor clarified. Harry put his gaze downward, but tilted his face up. Snape's expression was unreadable, but Harry felt waves of anger coming from the man. He was perfectly still, worried that if he moved Snape would lash out. Suddenly the chemistry professor turned away from Harry, ordering the dancer out of his classroom. Harry bolted from the room, opening the door and entering the hall, where he crashed into someone.

The impact shocked Harry from his fearful reverie, and he stepped back, stammering apologies. His eyes were on the floor, and the blood rushing through his ears was distracting him from the voice that was speaking urgently to him. Hands grabbed his elbows and Harry pushed the other person away, stumbling back up the hall towards his locker in a panic.

What had Snape been so angry about?

"Harry! _Harry! _HARRY!" Wait...that was...Harry turned around.

"George?"

"Christ, Harry. You look scared to death," George commented, walking up to his near-hyperventilating friend. "Breathe, kiddo. That's it. Breathe..." he whispered to the dancer, careful not to touch him until he was sure Harry could both see his hand and understand George meant him no harm. The redhead eased an arm around Harry.

"What...what are you doing here?" Harry choked out, glancing nervously back at the door to the chemistry classroom as if expecting Snape to come after him.

"I'm escorting you home. After last night we all thought it would be a good idea if someone came to get you from school," George explained. "Besides, you've got to be exhausted, and someone's got to make sure you don't fall asleep on the bus." Harry gave a half-hearted smile.

"I'm sure it would have been fine, George," he said, leading the way back to his locker.

"I know. But it never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes." Harry nodded in agreement, actually relieved that George was there. He opened his locker and gathered the textbooks he wanted to study that night, plus the homework he had. He left his dance bag in the locker; he wouldn't need dance clothes for tonight.

"So what had you out of that classroom like a bat out of hell?" George asked seriously while Harry collected his belonging. Harry shrugged.

"Snape, the chem professor, was acting really weird. It's been a crazy day and...I don't know. The bell rang and I was getting up to leave when he grabbed me from behind. I just...I wasn't expecting it and kind of freaked out, I guess," Harry looked embarrassed. "He was angry about something, though. Really angry. He asked to see my face." George shrugged.

"Sounds like an asshole. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Any bruises on your face or anything?" Harry shook his head.

"No," he answered, slamming his locker shut and shouldering his bag. George, who had removed his arm when they had reached the locker, draped it over Harry's shoulders once more. Harry glanced around the hall, and caught George doing the same.

"This is...kinda crazy, Harry," he commented quietly.

"Yeah. They really don't care about, I don't know, sexuality here. It's pretty cool, though, once you get used to it. I mean, I guess it's still weird to see guys making out in the hall and kids just walking by as if it was nothing unusual, but still," he answered. George nodded. "So how'd you find your way up here?" Harry wondered.

"Oh, a lady from the front desk showed me up. She said her name was Pomfrey something," George replied.

"That's the nurse who wants me to gain ten pounds by, well, next week," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "She's really overbearing."

"She was really happy to meet me, like, _beaming_," George commented. Harry shrugged.

"Don't look at me. No offense or anything, but I haven't mentioned you to anyone. I guess I haven't really mentioned any of you guys to my friends here," Harry mused. George looked down at him.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Harry paused, waving to a kid from chemistry who was looking at him sympathetically, "It's just...my life here is so different from back in Th—home. No one but the teachers even know that I live...you know. I'm trying to keep my life here separate, I guess."

"Whatever, Harry. Just don't stress yourself out too much," George said. "Hey, why don't you introduce me to some of your friends? Or at least point them out to me, I wanna know who you hang out with here!" Harry looked down.

"Um...maybe not today, George. My friends here...well, it's complicated. I meant to talk to you last night about it, after I got home from school, but well..." Harry trailed off, still staring at the floor passing underneath his feet. George looked at him, concerned.

"Okay, Harry. Let's get you home and fed, and then we'll talk. Have you eaten today?" George asked. Harry shook his head.

"Slept through lunch," he answered.

"What are you going to do next week, then? Tell the guy the truth?" Harry shrugged.

"I don't know yet. I guess I'll just wait and see—meet the guy and then figure out what game to play. People here though...well, things are getting really complicated. I'll tell you later," Harry said. George squeezed his shoulder before unwrapping his arm, letting his hand trail briefly down Harry's back.

"It'll work out. Like Fred and I said, just work on dance and school—everything else will work out." Harry shot his friend a disbelieving look.

"Mr. Weasley, everything does not always 'work out'. I think I've got a bit of work ahead of me before I start getting lucky," he answered. "I mean, if everyone thought that way..." Harry trailed off, his head turning slightly to the right. George followed the dancer's gaze and saw a tall blond boy and another dark-skinned boy leaning casually against the wall, eyebrows raised as they stared at Harry. In turn, Harry sharply looked away from them, biting his lip. George nudged him.

"Do I have competition?" he joked, happy to see Harry smile in return.

"Um...things are...kinda tense right now. I'll tell you later, really," he promised, and George began to feel a sense of foreboding about the conversation that was to come.

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As always, thanks for reading! If you are so inclined to drop a note I would love to hear from you!

Wykkyd


	15. Casual

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, related characters, or related plotlines. Sue and lose.

**A/N: **Thanks for your patience! I am on summer break for the next three months, so expect lots of updates. Enjoy!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Casual **

Harry was curled up on Fred's bed, eating the second half of a large sandwich Molly had made for him and thinking of how to explain to Fred and George his situation at school. The twins were seated on George's bed, snacking on crackers and half-heartedly staring at their homework until Harry felt like talking. The dancer had no clue where Ron or Ginny were. It was probably for the best that they weren't there, though, for the two youngest hadn't quite grasped the maturity to fully understand Harry's problems like Fred and George had.

"So...I guess all of this has to do with that anorexic thing the nurse is pulling over on me," Harry began. While the three ate their food, Harry continued to explain his situation, speaking about his deadline coming up next week, Draco's admission about his friends, and the curiosities of Professor Snape. Fred and George listened intently, occasionally asking questions. When Harry finished with a helpless shrug, Fred smiled.

"Harry...you're lucky to find kids who care enough to do something," he pointed out. Harry glared.

"What? You're taking _their _side?" he exclaimed. Fred shook his head, glancing to George for back up.

"Listen. It's wrong that they aren't being up front about it, except for Draco, but they're trying to help you, Harry. It just so happens that they're helping you with a problem you don't have, but at the same time, they're getting you a healthy lunch everyday, something you desperately need."

"Fred's right," George added. "I think you're taking this the wrong way. Your friends clearly don't mean you any harm, and they're clearly worried about you. Harry, the only problem is that you're so stubborn you can't see it," he said gently. Harry glared.

"What, so my friends fucking lying to me about all this is a _good _thing?"

"No, Harry! God. What they're _doing _for you is good. Getting food, keeping an eye on you...all that. If it bothers you that they're doing it behind your back," Harry scoffed, "then talk to them about it. Or talk about it with the school counselor," George said. Harry continued to the glare.

"I...I'll think about it," he said after a long pause.

"Good. I've gotta take off, Seam just called," Fred said, standing up. He ruffled Harry's hair on his way out, and the dancer playfully slapped his hand away. George brushed his bangs from his face, moving to sit on the bed next to Harry. The smaller boy moved into his side, resting his head on George's shoulder. The redhead curled his fingers in Harry's hair, alternately tugging on the black locks and sifting through them.

"Um...I know this is kinda lame...but where is this going? I mean, not this, but _this _this..." Harry stammered, suddenly nervous. George smiled, pressing his cheek to Harry's.

"Harry, be honest with me, and you tell _me _where this is going, okay? I don't want to do anything you don't want to," he said, turning to press a chaste kiss to Harry's pink lips. Harry shifted in order to hesitantly return it, but George pressed a finger to his lips before he could. "Tell me, Harry."

"I...George..."

"Be honest, Harry. Just tell me what you want from me," George whispered.

"I don't know what...I don't...George I'm so sorry!" Harry finally choked out, burying his head in George's chest. The twin eased the two of them backwards until he was lying horizontally on the bed with Harry curled on top of him. "I think...I think I like you, George, but school...and Vernon...and everything right now..." Harry's shoulders began to shiver, and George rubbed comforting circles for a minute.

"It's okay, Harry. I expected that, really. Who knows, if things calm down sometime, we'll give it a shot then," he said. Harry pulled himself under control and nodded, breathing in George's scent.

"I really do like you, George. I don't want you to think..."

"Whatever it is, Harry, I don't think that. I _do _think, however, that you are amazing, and beautiful, and honest, and kind, and that that Draco kid totally has the hots for you," George joked, his hand once more sliding through Harry's jet black hair. He could see Harry blush a deep red.

"Really?" the dancer squeaked. George sighed.

"Uh..._really _really. He's gay, right?"

"Bi. Just broke up with his bitch of a girlfriend today."

"Well then, he's free game for you," George exclaimed. Harry shook his head.

"Ge_orge_," he whined. "I'm _not _going out with him!"

"Why not?"

"I like _you_," Harry pointed out, his voice muffled by the redhead's chest.

"Sure, Harry. But who knows, maybe later you won't like me as you do now. Draco's a nice _option_, at least."

"You're not...I don't know, disappointed that I didn't want to go out with you now?" Harry wondered. George ran a hand up Harry's side, lifting the dancer's shirt along his rib cage.

"Harry, I really like you, but more than my boyfriend, you're one of my best friends. I want whatever's best for you. Right now, I'm not it, so now I'm telling you to move on. If we end up together, I'll be ecstatic, but if not, and you're happy that way, that's all I can ask for."

"That's really mature, George."

"That's life. Be happy with what you get, I guess," he explained, his fingertips brushing the soft skin covering Harry's ribs, finding slightly swollen patches from Vernon's boots or fists. Harry, with a smirk, grabbed George's hand and stopped it from creeping up farther. George raised an eyebrow, testing the waters and rocking his hips up into Harry's.

The dancer shifted on top of George, straddling him and pressing his lips to the redhead's neck. George groaned at the suction and moved his other hand up Harry's shirt, lightly dragging his nails over the skin. Harry's lips continued roaming over his skin, moving along his collar bone, leaving a wet trail of goosebumpy skin along his shoulder, back up his neck over his jaw...so close...George pulled Harry up several inches and slammed their mouths together, leaving Harry moaning in pleasure while their pelvises ground together.

"Fuck..." Harry panted, pulling their mouths apart and resting his forehead on George's, his focus on their hips as they rubbed against each other. Heat was overwhelming him, racing from his swollen lips to his fingers that were in George's hair, down his torso and pooling in his erection that was tenting in his jeans. He felt George flip them over, Harry on his back and the redhead lying on top.

Their mouths connected again, and George pushed his tongue through Harry's willing lips, tracing the dancer's teeth. Harry's hands were moving from his hair to the back to his neck, down down down until they slipped under his shirt and moved back up his chest. Harry was _writhing_, his eyes closed in arousal, his lips and tongue frantic for contact. George lifted himself up just enough for Harry to strip the shirt off for him, and then his slowly pressed their erections together, grinding harder when Harry lifted his hips to match the pace.

The redhead moved his hands up Harry's torso, pushing the teen's shirt up until it was bunched under his arms. The dancer raised them over his head and allowed George to practically rip it off him, exposing his rail-thin chest and stomach. George poked his belly button with a smile and Harry's laughed, his arms lowering over the redhead's shoulders. Their hips continued grinding together, until George lifted a hand from Harry's chest and lowered it to Harry's crotch. The dancer gasped when George pressed his hands to the tent in his jeans, allowing him to grind into it. The pace increased and Harry pulled George down to his mouth, connecting their lips and tongues in a battle of hormones and lust. Harry trailed his mouth over George's jaw as the redhead moved to give him more access. A guttural groan rose from his throat as Harry latched onto a particularly sensitive spot just above his collarbone. One of Harry's hands reached down to grab hold of the hand that was pressed against his crotch, lacing their fingers together and allowing their hips to come back into contact.

"Close, Harry," George moaned, pressing his face between Harry' neck and shoulder. Harry squeezed his hand and moaned, wrapping his legs around George's hips and _squeezing. _It was plenty enough to send George over the edge, and he could feel Harry shuddering beneath him in orgasm as well.

The two lay still, sweat clinging to their skin, chests heaving for air.

"Ya think Ron'll let me borrow a pair of his pants?" Harry asked with a breathy laugh. George chuckled.

"Sure. Just don't mention why you need 'em," he replied. "Hey, I was supposed to ask you," George mentioned, rolling off Harry until they were lying side by side, "a bunch of us are going to crash the park over in Eleventh on Saturday. You coming?"

"Fuck yes. I've got school until one fifteen, and then I have to run over to this dance shop for a bit, so let's go sometime after two," Harry said, grinning.

"Awesome. I'll tell the guys. Three sound good?"

"Fine. It'll give me time to get home and grab my board," Harry replied, sitting up. George swung his legs over the bed, shuffling over to the dresser and pulling out a pair of pants from Ron's drawer and a pair from his own drawer. Once the two had cleaned themselves up and changed they walked downstairs, waving to Molly and Arthur before leaving the shop.

…

Harry didn't mind going to ballet on Saturday's, because he got to dance with the rest of the sophomores as well as the freshmen classes. While he supposed Trelawney had been correct in moving him to the freshman class, he still preferred to dance around the people he was most comfortable with, even if his friends were currently lying to him about food and eating disorder theories.

Hermione made a fantastic partner in ballet, and Harry wished he was in her class if only so he could work with her all the time. Neither the freshman or sophomore classes were doing lifts, but they had been learning the basics of partner dancing during the last week. Harry enjoyed working with his friend, who would always correct his position and give him pointers on what he needed to do to improve his technique. Many of the other students found Hermione a know-it-all, but Harry felt he needed all the help he could get, and truly appreciated Hermione's comments.

Doug, on the other hand, was a great partner in the Latin dances. Harry was a little farther along in Latin than he was in ballet, and for the most part could keep up with Doug when the long-haired boy led him around the floor. Dancing the female role wasn't Harry's ideal position, but he was still learning just by watching Doug in action or feeling how the larger teen guided and molded him with light touches to his back or hand.

Class went by quickly for Harry, and he found ballet quickly becoming easier for him to understand. He was loosing the stiff posture he developed as a beginner, his movements becoming more fluid and graceful. His original teacher, Madame Trelawney, praised him repeatedly during the class.

"Way to go, Harry, you're way better than last week. I'm blown away!" Doug said, clapping Harry on the back while they picked up their warm ups and put them back in their dance bags. Harry gave him a small smile.

"Thanks," he replied, standing up and looking to the clock on the wall.

"What are you working on now?" Doug asked. Harry thought about it. After ballet class on Saturdays, students were given an hour and a half to work on whatever they pleased, and Harry wasn't sure what he needed to work on most.

"Probably ballroom stuff. I was lost on Thursday," Harry answered, bending over at the waist and putting his palms flat on the floor.

"Oh god, I hate ballroom. Tango's alright, I suppose, but the foxtrot and all that shit...gross. Even the Latin-inspired stuff, like the cha-cha and the salsa, I don't like it during class. It's boring," Doug answered. Harry laughed.

"I can understand salsa and cha-cha. It's really just the waltz, tango, and quick-step that I can't figure out."

"I'm working with Allen and Eric today on Modern, but if you want tango help you know who to ask," Doug said, winking. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, thanks." Harry waved to his friend and left the studio, going down the hall to Studio Three, where his ballroom teacher said he would be.

"Hello, Harry. It's good to see you," Mr. Vate said, rising from the floor where he had been stretching. "I'm afraid I've got an errand to run for the school in half and hour, so let's get to work."

"Okay," Harry said, smiling shyly and setting his bag down. There were several juniors in the room who were working on hip hop, but Harry and his teacher still had most of the floor. Harry joined Mr. Vate in the middle of the floor, listening to what the man was saying about the quick-step. Apparently they were starting with that.

After prancing around the room, Harry starting his quick-step basic slow, and then dancing faster, Mr. Vate switched to working on the waltz. Harry understood the basics of the waltz, the one-two-three step, the slight pause between counts one and two, but he had trouble leading and following. Mr. Vate took the female's role, letting Harry lead him around the room while giving him pointers along the way.

"Harry, you have to take initiative. If you want to step left, _push _with your left hand. Otherwise I don't know what you're doing. _Yes! _Just like that!" The two danced in circles for several more minutes, Mr. Vate switching between leading Harry and following his student. "Good work for today, Harry. I've got to run, but keep working on the waltz. Hold your arms in position...right arm a little higher...perfect...Hold that position, close your eyes, and take small waltz steps. I'll leave the music on for you—I want you to keep your eyes closed so you can really feel the beat, alright? Switch between leading and following positions," Mr. Vate looked to the other students in the room. "Harry here is dancing with his eyes closed, don't get in his way, and tell him if he's going to impale himself on something, alright?" The students laughed and nodded.

"Sure thing, Mr. Vate," one of them called, looking to Harry with a kind smile. The greey-eyed boy blushed at the attention, and barely heard as Mr. Vate left the studio. "Don't worry, Harry, we've all been there. Mr. Vate loves having people dance with their eyes closed—and it works. Just relax—we won't let you run into the mirror," the other dancer said.

"Okay. Thanks," Harry said, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He put his arms in a leading position and began taking waltz steps, _one...two...three _resonating through his feet.

…

Draco walked through the second floor hall, glancing into each studio until he saw Harry in Studio Three. The black-haired dancer was dancing with his eyes closed, a slow waltz softly floating through the air. The blond entered the studio and leaned against the mirror, watching Harry take small steps, and switch his arms from a leading position to a following position.

Several juniors looked up from their position in the corner of the studio as Draco slowly moved toward Harry. He held a finger to his lips when one of them looked as if he was going to say something. The dancer just shrugged and went back to working. The blond continued to walk towards Harry, picking out the teen's rhythm. When Harry took a step towards him, Draco met him halfway, his right hand gently grasping Harry's left, and his left arm wrapping around Harry's waist.

Harry lurched away for a moment, but Draco had been expected that from the jumpy teen, and managed to hold him close. The dancer's eyes had flown open, shocked green pools staring into Draco's face. The blond smiled.

"It's only me, Harry," he whispered, glad when he felt the muscles along Harry's back relax under his hand.

"You scared the shit out of me! Didn't you know I had my eyes closed?" Harry hissed, now blushing in embarrassment. Draco gave him another comforting smile.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Draco said softly, turning Harry in a slow circle. "Just dance with me, come on, relax," he breathed, lengthening their strides and covering more ground. Harry managed to relax a bit more, his steps less stiff than they had been when Draco had slipped into his arms. "Try closing your eyes again, Harry," Draco suggested, and Harry's eyes fell lightly shut. Draco held him firmly, a steady and solid presence so that Harry could adjust to his stride and feel which way Draco was moving.

"I didn't know you could dance," Harry murmured, his eyes still shut.

"My mother made me take ballroom lessons when I was young, and we go to enough fancy parties with a dance floor that I'm able to practice often enough."

"Can you dance other ballroom dances, besides the waltz?" Harry asked.

"I could quick-step and cha-cha if my life depended on it, but I'm best at the waltz and the tango," Draco answered, raising his left arm back into proper waltz position and drumming the fingers of his left hand on Harry's spine. "Straighten your back a bit. The waltz is a very formal dance, that's why we hold ourselves so firmly and fairly far apart, compared to the other ballrooms dances," Draco said. "There you go. Now just relax your feet and feel where I pull you. We keep resistance between our arms so it's easier for the follower to know what the leader is doing."

"Okay," Harry said, a frown of concentration appearing on his forehead. Seriously, relax your feet and allow yourself to be pulled around, while keeping your torso stiff? Who came _up _with this stuff?

Draco's hand on his back pushed him left, and Harry moved with the blond step after step after step, until his form became second-nature and fluid. Draco switched positions with him, allowing Harry to lead for several minutes, and giving Harry pointers on how to make his directional decisions clear. Eventually Harry switched their positions back to Draco leading and him following. Draco allowed the change, pulling Harry a bit closer than necessary for the waltz. He made few corrections, content to gaze at the gorgeous dancer in his arms, Harry moving seamlessly from one foot to the other, eyes closed, breathing even.

After half an hour Draco realized that he and Harry were no longer anywhere _near _the correct waltz position. Harry's body was centimeters away from his own and their arms were bent and lowered so that their hands were clasped next to Harry's shoulder. Draco's hand had slipped from the middle of Harry's back to the dancer's lower back, resting just above the outward curve of his rear. It would be so easy to pull Harry closer, press their chests and hips together, wrap his arms around Harry's back, rest his head on Harry's.

_Oh god, _Draco thought, inhaling the scent of whatever soap Harry had used to shower this morning. _This boy is amazing._

Draco only noticed that the CD had ended when Harry, still in his arms, slowed to a halt, opening his eyes for the first time in almost forty-five minutes.

"Fifteen minutes left of class," Harry whispered. "Speaking of which—why aren't you in class?" he asked. Draco's hand dropped from Harry's back and he stepped away a bit, to keep himself from driving Harry into the wall and kissing him senseless.

"It's sectional rehearsals today, for the second violins. The teacher said I could leave," Draco explained. Harry looked down.

"Oh. Well...thanks for helping me today," he said, shy once again.

"No problem. I suppose Doug's helping you with tango?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"We haven't gotten that far in class yet, but Doug's said he would help me when we do get there," he answered. Draco only nodded, and Harry took the opportunity to say what he had wanted to since Wednesday. "Draco...could we...could we go somewhere and talk, really quick?" Harry whispered. Draco gave a wave to the other dancers in the room and gently tugged Harry's elbow.

"Yeah. Let's go up to the practice rooms," the blond suggested. The two walked up to the third floor, Draco still holding Harry's elbow lightly. Finally they entered one of the small rooms and Draco shut the door behind him. "What's up, Harry?" he asked seriously. Harry sighed.

"I...I want to talk to Doug, Hermione, Neville, Luna and those guys about this whole eating disorder thing," he started. Draco's eyebrows rose. "Not...not why I'm so...um...thin, or anything. I just want them to know that _I _know what they're trying to do for me. It bothers me that they're going behind my back—I hate being left out of the loop, especially with something like this."

"What are you saying?" Draco asked.

"I just want to make sure if I told them what I know, that you wouldn't get in trouble for telling me or anything," Harry said, timidly glancing up at the senior. Draco smiled.

"I'm sure Hermione won't be too happy about it, but no one's going to get me in trouble for telling you. Severus already knows, anyway, I told him on Wednesday," the blond said. Harry looked surprised.

"You did? What'd he say?" Draco shrugged.

"He was a little frustrated that I did it without asking him. Severus...he really wants to help you, Harry."

"Sure, because he _has _to—it's his _job," _Harry grumbled. Draco put a hand on his shoulder, leaning closer.

"No, Harry, because Severus likes you, and because I'm worried about you. I know he acts like you're dirt on his shoe or something, but Severus treats _me _that way, even when he loves me. He'll help you if you let him," Draco said urgently. Harry shook his head.

"I already have one counselor, thanks," he said. "Sirius Black comes back soon. I'll start counseling with him whenever Pomfrey gives the word."

"Because of the ten pounds you were supposed to gain?" Draco asked. Harry nodded.

"I _lost _a pound, Draco. Pomfrey's going to be furious," he said with a sad smile. Draco continued to stare at him.

"You don't have to answer this, Harry, but I'm curious: how much _do _you weight?" Harry took a long time to answer, but finally, he opened his mouth.

"Eighty-eight pounds," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Draco looked shocked for a moment.

"That's all?" he asked, incredulous. Harry managed to laugh.

"Yes, that's _all_. Why do you think Pomfrey was so concerned?" he said, still smiling. Draco, on the other hand, was not smiling.

"But...doesn't that affect your performance? Like, dancing or whatever?" he wondered. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. I've never been my proper weight, so I don't know what to compare it to. I guess I have a lot of dizzy spells, but it's nothing too bad. I'm kind of tired a lot, but I don't know if that has to do with weight or something else," he explained. Draco sighed.

"I wish you would talk to Severus," he said softly. Harry looked up at him.

"What's wrong with Black?" he asked. Draco shrugged and helped Harry into a standing position.

"Nothing's wrong with Black, it's just...I don't know. I guess I know Severus better, and it just feels like he could really help, maybe more than Black."

"Have you met Black? What kind of guy is he?" Harry wondered as they walked back down to the dance floor.

"He's pretty cool. Young, fairly good-looking, okay, _really _good-looking," Draco amended, "he's lots of fun, likes to joke around, but he can get very serious too. He takes eating disorders very seriously—he had one, once. Still has problems with it, or so the rumor goes." Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"_Really? _Did Snape have one too? Is that why he's counseling?"

"No. Severus had...other problems as a kid," Draco whispered. Harry didn't pry anymore, but his curiosity had been peaked. "Come on, let's go find Doug and Hermione. You can tell them now, and I guess anyone else will have to wait until Monday. You okay with that?" Harry nodded and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. Absentmindedly he realized he had to do the wash today. There was too much dirt in his pockets.

It took Harry and Draco ten minutes to round up both Doug and Hermione. The four were clustered at one end of the all, a fairly large distance away from everyone else who was filing into the changing rooms.

"What did you want to talk about, Harry?" Hermione wondered, her large brown eyes concerned. Harry sighed.

"I...I know about what you guys are doing with Pomfrey. About the whole eating disorder thing," he whispered. Hermione's eyes widened, and Doug groaned.

"You're pissed, huh?" he stated. Harry shrugged.

"I was...right after I found out. That's why I didn't hang out with you much this week—I didn't want to blow up at you, or anything," he said, smiling ruefully. Doug and Hermione were both avoiding his eyes.

"How'd you find out?" Doug asked.

"I told him," Draco broke in, staring at Doug hard, daring him to speak out against it in front of Harry. Doug backed down, and his angry gaze softened when he looked to Harry's betrayed face.

"I'm glad he told me. I mean, what did you guys think? That I _wouldn't _figure it eventually? What was the problem with just telling me what was going on in the first place?!" Harry cried. Hermione found the courage to look up at him.

"Harry, you're so stubborn, and you frequently refused to talk to us about things. It's not hard to figure out you either hate people helping you, or you're just not used to it," she explained. Harry glared at her for a moment, until the truth of her words sank in. He was stubborn. And he wasn't used to people helping him like this—not even the Weasleys went this far for him.

"Hermione, I've only _known _you guys for three weeks. I..." Harry shrugged, not knowing what he was trying to communicate.

"Harry, I know we haven't known you that long, and there's a lot you're keeping from us, and I guess we'll just have to get used to that. But sometimes...sometimes you just have to trust that people want the best for you," Hermione said, her eyes pleading with him to understand. Harry shook his head.

"I haven't had the best experiences with trust, okay? And it's not like you guys helped that much by going behind my back. I get that you wanted to help, but if you want to help, at least let me know what you're doing!"

"What if you don't _accept _our help?" Doug asked, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Then maybe you should _accept _that I don't want it, and leave it at that," Harry suggested. Hermione shook her head.

"I don't care if you don't trust us yet, Harry. I don't know what happened to you to make you like this, and I'm not asking you to explain it to me. But you want us to come out to you about this eating disorder? Fine. Here it is." Harry had never heard Hermione speak this way. It reminded him of a reprimanding mother: frustrated but concerned. He listened. "You are skin and bones, Harry. Pomfrey is _worried _about your health, and she knew that you spend time with us at school. She asked for our help, and because we all _care _about you, we decided to help you. Yes, we did it behind your back, and yes, that was wrong. But Harry, sometimes you can say 'no' to help, and we'll back off. But when your _life_ is in danger, I will _not _back off!" Hermione said, her voice firm. Harry looked to Doug, who shrugged, agreeing with Hermione.

"I...I won't pretend I understand why you are doing this for me, but...if you promise not to keep things like this from me, then I guess I'll let you help me," Harry whispered after a long moment of silence. Hermione looked relieved, and before Harry could react, she had him in a tight hug.

"Oh _thank you!" _she said, clutching his shoulders. Harry patted her back awkwardly.

"Yeah, and I guess I owe you guys a 'thank you', too," he said. Doug nodded and smiled at him.

"You're welcome, Harry." Hermione released the black-haired teen, who stepped back to distance himself from the other three. He caught Draco's calculating eyes for a moment, before he looked away again.

"We should go do something today! Go on a walk or something," Hermione suggested brightly. Harry shook his head.

"Sorry, but I have to go over to that dance store on 6th to pick some stuff up," Harry said.

"Rain check then! We'll see you Monday?" Doug asked. Harry nodded and the group split up, the three dancers heading for the locker rooms, and Draco following Harry.

"You want a ride to the shop?" he asked, hoping Harry would accept. The dancer paused to consider, and then slowly nodded his head.

"Sure, I guess. Lemme change really quick," he said. Draco nodded and sat down on a bench to wait for Harry.

* * *

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, or hated it, leave me a note! I'll get back to as many of you as I can!

-Wykkyd


	16. Life in the First Floor Apartment

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, associated characters or plotlines, which should be accredited to J.K. Rowling. Shocker, right?

**A/N: **I'm excited to be able to write in my free time now that I'm on summer break! Hooray! I'm sorry to those of you who reviewed and I didn't reply to. Next time! Enjoy this chapter. It's intense.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Life in the First Floor Apartment**

Draco's sleek car swerved into the parking spot just in front of the doors of the dance shop Harry had visited on Wednesday. The dancer thanked Draco for the ride, but convinced him that he wouldn't need him to come 'shopping' with him. Draco pulled out of the parking lot with a wave, and Harry entered the shop.

The same man as the other day was standing behind the counter; he smiled broadly when he recognized Harry.

"Hello young man, it's good to see you back here," he said casually, leaning on the counter. Harry managed a self-conscious smile.

"Um...yeah. I'm here to talk about, well, working off the dance clothing," he whispered. The man nodded and held out his hand.

"I'm sure we can figure something out that works for both of us. My name is Regulus," he said. Harry shook his hand.

"I'm Harry, it's nice to meet you." Regulus just smiled and stepped out from around the counter.

"Let's go into the back and talk, okay?" he suggested, leading Harry towards one wall of the shop where there was a small door. The tall man had to duck to fit in it, but Harry walked through with several inches to spare. In the back room there were several shelves, floor to ceiling, stocked with boxes. Regulus saw Harry's curious stare. "Storage for pointe shoes," he said, pointing to the boxes. "Over there are the normal canvas and leather shoes, with a few satin ones for the traditional schools. Tights are in that large filing cabinet over there, and leotards, skirts, and warm-ups are on that shelf over there," he explained. Harry memorized the instructions, sure he would need them later when he began work. "Well, have a seat." Regulus gestured grandly to a small sofa with a coffee table in front of it, stacked with magazines and paper coffee cups. Harry sat down, and Regulus sat down in the armchair opposite the couch.

While Regulus introduced himself further and talked about the history of the shop, Harry listened while looking his boss over once more. Regulus was tall and young, perhaps in the mid-twenties. He had black hair that was cut around his ears in a shaggy fashionable style, and Harry could make out a small hoop earring in his left ear. Regulus' crystal blue eyes were striking: contrasting his dark hair, but complimenting his pale skin. The teenager couldn't help but think he himself looked very similar to Regulus, minus about fifty pounds.

"...So, here I am, running my father's shop with as much enthusiasm as any twenty-six-year-old non-dancer can," Regulus finished.

"You don't dance?" Harry asked, surprised. Regulus smiled.

"No. My father had me in lessons at age four, but I never had the talent for it. Neither did my brother. It worked out in the end, though, I don't mind running this place," the dark-haired man said with a shrug. "But let's talk about you." Harry looked at his knees, biting his lip. "You dance at Hogwarts?" Regulus asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. On...on scholarship, though. I could never afford tuition, as you can probably tell," Harry said softly. He hadn't ever directly told anyone he was a scholarship student, but he figured Regulus already understood that much, as he couldn't even afford to buy the dance clothing required by the school.

"Hogwarts is expensive, no one's debating that. And hey, the students who graduate from Hogwarts on scholarships _always _do well," Regulus assured. "So how old are you, Harry?"

"Sixteen, but I'm only a sophomore," he said. Regulus nodded, not asking why he was a year older than most sophomores. Harry was glad.

"Did you grow up here?" Harry shrugged.

"Pretty much. I moved here when I was two or something—really small."

"Me, too, kid. It's not a bad place to grow up, though," Regulus said. Harry couldn't help the snort that came out of his mouth. If his new boss heard it, though, he didn't comment. "Well, if you're looking at tights and shoes for the school, it's around a hundred bucks right now. You'll end up needing more shoes, though, and if you end up in the performance at the end of the year, you're looking at another fifty for a leotard and other performance-wear. You can expect to be throwing three hundred dollars into dance gear this year, at minimum," Regulus said. Harry looked up.

"And you'll let me work it off here?" he asked. As if sensing Harry's apprehension, Regulus nodded with a large smile.

"Of course! I'd love to have some company around here, and I'm sure you're a lot of fun to hang out with—once you get over that shy streak of yours," he smiled again, and Harry bit his lip. "We can work out a trade of sorts, three weeks of work for every hundred dollars worth of dance gear you need. You can come in whenever you need new clothes, and I'll put you to work. How's that sound?"

"Only three weeks?" Harry asked, surprised. He had held jobs before, but it was a last resort for whenever Vernon stopped managing to pay the bills with what money was still in his bank account. Harry knew three weeks of work with minimum hours at minimum wage probably wasn't equal to a hundred dollars. Maybe Regulus wanted him all day on weekends?

"Three weeks will be plenty, Harry. The School of the Arts is a demanding school. Once things get rolling this year you'll be spending a lot of time practicing after school with dance groups, friends, and teachers. Trust me, I hear kids complaining in here all the time about the work that goes into Hogwarts' dance program. And we're not even talking about academic homework. I only want you in here after school each day for a couple hours. What time do you get out of school?"

"Um, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I'm out at three ten, but the rest of the week I'm out at four."

"If you came in for two hours after school each day, will that give you time for dinner at home?" Regulus asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. The dinner situation isn't very formal at my house," he explained. Regulus nodded.

"Okay. Here's the deal, next Monday, two days from now, you come in here after school—don't rush over or anything, take your time getting your stuff together or talking to teachers or whatever—and we'll work for a couple hours. I'll show you the ropes, and we can get your paperwork sorted out and all that. If it works out for you, we'll keep up that schedule for a few weeks. How's that sound?"

"What about weekends?" Harry wondered.

"I'm closed on Sundays, and Saturday's are pretty easy to handle by myself. You get weekends off—have some fun," Regulus said. Harry smiled at him, already looking forward to work on Monday. Not only did it buy him clothes he needed for dance, but it also kept him from returning to Thirteenth District for another two hours or so.

"Okay. That sounds great," Harry said, still smiling. Regulus stood, looking Harry over.

"Let's get you your dance stuff. I'll let you take them now if you'll sign a contract saying you'll come back and work it off, okay?"

"Oh, I'll come back! I swear!" Harry said. He might _look _like a dingy punk kid half the time, but he was reliable.

"I believe you, kid. It's just for business reasons, gotta keep records and all that," Regulus explained, leading Harry back into the main shop. There were still no other customers. Regulus told Harry to have a look at the charts on the wall for tight and shoe sizes, while he went behind his counter and shuffled through a file for the correct paperwork.

Harry found his height and weight on the chart for tight sizes, and discovered he was a small. _Shocking, _he thought dryly, glancing at the chart for shoes. He was a six for street shoes, so that put him around a seven or eight in canvas ballet.

"Sign this," Regulus said, holding a pen and paper out to Harry, who did as instructed. "There's more paperwork for you to sign on Monday, but I have to dig it out of the back somewhere. So we'll deal with that later. What size of shoes do you need?" he asked, folding the paper Harry had signed and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. Harry smiled to himself. He was working in a dance shop. What would Ron say?

…

Harry could hear the television from the hall outside their apartment—against his hopes and prayers, Vernon was home. With his board and jacket clutched between his upper arm and his side, and his bag slung over his shoulder, Harry let himself into the apartment, glancing around for his uncle's whereabouts.

Vernon was just emerging from his room when Harry shut the door, and the dancer turned around to feel a set of keys hit him in the face. Flinching and grabbing the offending keys, Harry glared at his uncle.

"Get the mail," Vernon ordered, his voice gruff. Harry watched Vernon for a moment while the man looked for an instant dinner to make, and then he turned and left the apartment, keys clutched in his hands.

The mail was on the same floor as the Dursley apartment, the first floor, and Harry only had to walk past several apartments down the hall to reach the boxes. Using the keys Vernon had thrown at him, he opened box number four and groaned at all the mail shoved inside. It was usually his job to get the mail, Vernon had certainly never done it unless he was expecting a package, but for the last week Harry had forgotten.

With his jacket and skateboard still in place under his left arm, Harry sorted through the mail on his way back to the apartment. One was a letter from Marge—no doubt announcing her arrival in town—and there were several pieces of junk mail, but Harry was dismayed to see most of the mail was bills. Bills that Vernon probably wasn't able to pay immediately. Harry wondered if the rent situation had been taken care of, but at the same time, he knew it hadn't. It would have to happen soon. Slughorn would be sending another bill next week, and if they weren't paid up...

Harry sighed. It wasn't like he had never spent nights on the streets. It had happened a lot, actually: when Vernon had friends over and they got too rowdy for Harry to be safe, when Vernon had female friends over and Harry didn't want to be dragged into a orgy, when Vernon was raging drunk and about to kill him, when Vernon locked the door and refused to let him in, when gang activity prevented him from going home, when cops picked him up for the night, and when he just didn't feel like staying in the apartment. The Weasleys had housed him many times as well, but Harry preferred not to add one more body to the bedroom all the boys shared.

Slughorn's apartment wasn't the first Harry and Vernon had, either. There were four other buildings before Slughorn came along, and each time the Dursley 'family' had been evicted because of late payments. Harry figured Vernon was due another eviction.

When Harry entered the apartment he noticed Vernon eating a cold dish of pizza that had appeared from nowhere—Harry assumed his uncle had snagged it earlier in the day. His stomach growled in hunger, but he knew from looking this morning that there was nothing in the fridge besides some old take-out that had Vernon's name written all over it and a stash of Budweiser. At least Fred had thought to bring him an apple at the skate park earlier that day.

The dancer set the mail down on the decrepit counter and went to his room to set his jacket, skateboard, and dance bag down on the bed. Then, taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stepped back into the living room and made eye contact with his uncle.

"Vernon, Slughorn keeps bugging about the rent," he said softly, but firmly. "We have to pay the rent," Harry clarified. He couldn't tell how sober Vernon was—how much the large man would understand and remember.

"Yeah yeah...I'll pay it," Vernon mumbled, spiting pizza sauce from his mouth.

"There's another bill coming next week—it's the last of the month. If the previous bills aren't paid we're fucking outta here," Harry said, moving warily around his uncle and looking in the fridge, despite already knowing the contents. Staring at the take-out made him feel less hungry, Harry noticed, before shutting the fridge and moving back to the sofa. He sat down lightly, ready to bolt for the door as soon as Vernon got too angry.

"Yeah yeah...I'll pay it," Vernon repeated. Harry glared at the floor.

"And the water and electricity?" he asked.

"Get a damn job, boy," Vernon said in reply. That meant either no water or electrify...Well, it had happened before.

"Phone bill," Harry reminded.

"Uh...I haven't paid that for fuckin' weeks. Think it was cut a couple days ago," Vernon said, taking another large bite of the pizza and then washing it down with Budweiser. Harry fisted his hands, diggin his nails into his palms.

"Vernon—"

"That's fucking _sir _to you, boy!" Vernon yelled. Harry flinched.

"Yes..._sir,"_ he said quickly. "You owe Slughorn almost a thousand dollars for last month, and then another thousand or whatever for this month. The god damn electricity and water bills have to paid! You said...you fucking said you had all of that covered!" Harry snapped loudly.

"I lied, Potter. You think money grows on god damn trees?" Vernon shouted. Harry stood, too anxious to remain seated. He would be able to push the issue just a bit more until Vernon snapped and came after him.

"Well where the hell has it been coming from for the last year! You said you got a job last fucking _year,_ you _liar!" _Harry screamed. "Where the fuck is the money coming from?" Vernon was standing now, his pizza and beer forgotten. Harry saw him take a staggering step around the counter, moving near to the connected living room, where Harry was standing.

"The fucking loan my Petunia took out to cover Duddy's medical bills. The loan!" Vernon shouted. Harry balled his hands into fists, exhaling through clenched teeth.

"How much? How much did you take out?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Too much, I guess. I can't take any more until I get most of it paid off."

"What about the savings account?" Harry knew the Dursley family used to have money, and yes, most of it had been used for Dudley, but shit...there had to be _something _left, right?

"Finished. Zero zero dot zero zero, you fucking fag," Vernon snapped, staggering into a wall. Harry took a step away from his uncle.

"Well get a job then! You want to be evicted? Where the hell would we go? _Another _apartment? No one will take us with this kind of record!" Harry shouted.

"Margie'll let me stay with her until I'm back on my feet," Vernon said smugly. "As for you, you can whore yourself out on the street for all I care." Harry sneered at him.

"You? Get back on your feet?" he laughed. "Yeah _right! _You owe money to the bank, to Slughorn, to the phone company, and all the god damn utilities!"

"It's not your fucking problem, boy!" Vernon shouted in reply.

"_Yes it is!" _Harry screamed at his uncle. "You were supposed to take care of me! You were supposed to figure all of this out! And all you can fucking think of is how you're going to afford your next bottle of fucking _beer?" _Harry stopped, panting, angry and frustrated and scared. Vernon took a lurching step towards him, now only several yards away. Harry took another step back.

"You fucking ungrateful little wretch!" Vernon yelled. "You think I'm supposed to take care of a piece of shit like you? You think I love you like I loved Dudley? I don't give a _shit _about you!" Harry retreated another step, as Vernon continued to advance. "You think I care if you end up dead on the streets? If we get evicted from this pit? I don't! I _don't! _ Because I still have family, and what do you have? _NO ONE!" _Vernon was screaming now, spit flying from his mouth, face red and eyes boring holes into his nephew. Harry took another step and backed into the wall near the door. Vernon was right. No matter how bad things got for the man, he could always go running to Marge. Harry didn't have anyone but the Weasleys, and they had enough children to take care of.

Vernon slammed a fist into the wall next to Harry's head, grabbing the boy's arm in a vice-like grip. Harry twisted away, wrenching his elbow painfully but managing to distance himself from his drunken uncle. The things Vernon was still screaming at him rang in his ears like hollow announcements, he could hear them, but wasn't listening. All he could see were his uncle's beady eyes and large fists as he and Vernon circled each other in the room. Vernon made two steps towards his nephew, and Harry backed up quickly, the back of his knees colliding with the rickety coffee table. He fell back, landing on the table and then rolling off onto the floor. Harry didn't dare to remain still for more than two seconds, even though his ribs were hurting from the fall.

Vernon's hand grabbed the back of Harry's shirt, wrenching him off the ground and throwing him down onto the couch. Harry struggled to regain his footing, scrambling against Vernon's hands.

"Get _off!" _Harry cried as he was slammed back into the couch cushions, his uncle's hands gripping his shoulders.

"Shut up, faggot!" Vernon screamed, backhanding his nephew. Harry's head snapped to the side, his eyes watering from the stinging pain in his cheek. He was glad Vernon no longer wore his wedding ring. "SHUT UP!" Vernon screamed again, and Harry would have pointed out he hadn't actually said anything if it weren't a life-threatening comment. He continued to struggle against his uncle's strong hands, but it quickly became apparent that he couldn't overpower Vernon. With a glare, Harry lifted a leg in between their bodies and rammed his foot into Vernon's gut. The man roared in pain, releasing Harry just enough for the boy to leap from the couch. Vernon didn't follow him, and Harry ran straight for his room. Leaving the apartment would mean being locked out all night, and Harry didn't want to walk from his home to the Weasleys' without a weapon—just in case.

Harry had just reached the skateboard he left on his bed when Vernon came crashing into the room. The dancer spun around, skateboard in hand, to see his uncle charging towards him with a beer bottle raised. It hadn't been completely empty and Harry saw the pungent liquid splashing onto the already disgusting carpet.

"You fucking piece of shit! Piece of _shit!" _Vernon was screaming, madly swinging the bottle in Harry's direction. Harry raised his board, using it to smack the bottle out of his uncle's hand. It shattered against his wall, raining down in the little pieces not at all foreign to him. With desperate strength Harry swung his skateboard at Vernon's head, watching as the wheel hit the large man's skull. Vernon yelled in rage and pain and Harry swung again, repeatedly smashing the deck against his uncle's head until the man stopped advancing. With his back against the wall Harry swung one last time, and the terrifying crack of wood on skull resounded through Vernon's screams and Harry's yell. The man staggered and fell backwards, partly landing on Harry's bed.

The sudden silence made Harry fall to his knees, clutching his skateboard in shaking, white hands. He was panting, tears leaking from his eyes. _Oh shit, I just knocked Vernon out, _he thought, praying that Vernon had been drunk enough to not remember the occurrence the next morning. It took Harry five minutes to find the strength to stand up, and even then his legs and arms felt like jelly. He had been holding his board so tightly it hurt when he released it to the floor. Harry cautiously approached his uncle, and once he was sure the man was truly unconscious, grabbed one arm and dragged him out of the small bedroom.

Harry tugged his uncle into the man's own room, leaving him on the floor in a sea of aluminum cans and glass bottles.

"And you think _I'm _a piece of shit?" Harry asked him, kicking a can from under his feet. "What do you call _yourself?" _he screamed, staggering backwards until he hit the wall. "What do you _call yourself?" _Tears rushing from his eyes, Harry grabbed a bottle from near his feet and threw it at the wall, the sound of falling glass shards almost comforting. "You think this is how I wanted to grow up? Fucking _Petunia _and _Dudley _were better than this! At least with them I got to _eat _something!" Another bottle shattered against the wall, and Harry continued screaming. "I HATE this! I hate this place...I hate the gangs and the violence and the whores and the drugs and the sex and the perverts and the beer! I hate _you!" _The bottle Harry had picked up broke under his grip, shards of glass cutting into his skin. He threw it away from him, dropping to his knees and reaching for another bottle. Moments later it broke against the far wall. "I hate you! I _hate you! _I HATE YOU!" he screamed, over and over, throwing bottles and cans and old magazines and dishes until the tears stopped pouring from his eyes and he could hardly move. Vernon lay unconscious, never moving once, and finally Harry pushed himself up and stumbled back into his own room, falling onto his bed and curling into an invisible ball.

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Thank you all for reading! I'm really happy with this chapter, and was very excited to post it. Tell me what you think if you like!

-Wykkyd


	17. Morning as Usual

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, associated characters, or associated plotlines. Simple enough.

**A/N: **Sorry about the long-ish delay on the update. I didn't reply to a fair few of your reviews for last chapter because my job got very busy all of a sudden, but thank you to everyone who reviewed and I'm very sorry I didn't reply to you. Enjoy this chapter!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Morning as Usual**

Harry woke up screaming, flashes of broken glass fluttering underneath his eyelids, screams and loud honks burrowing into his eardrums. He rolled over, pressing his face into the frayed mattress to suppress tears. He rarely had dreams of the car accident now that he was in his teens. It had been too long, and Harry could remember very little of the actual crash. It still provided for very disturbing nightmares, though, especially when Harry was under stress.

When his breathing was under control and Harry was sure he wouldn't burst into tears, he pushed himself up, turning to lean his back against the wall while his arms wrapped around his bent knees. The alarm clock on the floor next to the bed read eleven thirty. Harry sighed, swinging his legs off the mattress and standing up, rolling his sore shoulders and flexing his cut hands. Harry then stripped off his shirt to inspect the damage Vernon had inflicted last night. There wasn't much but several hand-shaped bruises on his upper arms and shoulders, and a few marks on his back from when he had fallen on the coffee table. His hands were a bit cut up from chucking bottles around, but the nicks weren't serious. No doubt there was some redness on his face as well, from Vernon's vicious backhand. Rubbing his elbow to sooth the sore muscle, Harry wondered if he had strained it trying to escape Vernon's grasp. He kicked his box of clothes over and pulled out a random shirt, putting his sweatshirt on over that, and because the apartment was chilly this morning, donned a hoodie over the sweatshirt. He hadn't changed into pajamas last night, falling asleep in his shirt and jeans, and when he found no clean pants in his box, Harry walked out of his room in the same jeans he wore the day before. He wondered if he could scrounge up enough change for laundry today...

Harry crept to his uncle's room and peered in, relieved to see that Vernon was still sleeping the alcohol off. For several fleeting moments before falling asleep the night before Harry had entertained thoughts of Vernon being dead. But the repercussions of that would have been worse than the present.

The dancer walked back into his room to get the knife he had left in his bag and his skateboard. The board was set on the kitchen counter while Harry rooted through the cabinets in search of something to eat. There was a handful of stale cheerios that Vernon had somehow missed, and Harry ate them in a bowl with some water, because there wasn't any milk in the fridge and he hated eating them dry. As he rinsed off his bowl and spoon Harry heard his uncle grunting and groaning in his room and knew it was time to get the hell out. Skateboard in hand and stomach still grumbling, Harry left the apartment just as his uncle pulled himself to a standing position.

The walk to the Weasleys' was brisk; it was cold, with a bitter wind picking up. Harry wished he had donned his windbreaker as well, but settled for holding his board under one arm while jogging to keep warm. By the time he entered the warm shop, Harry's lips were tinged with blue and his hands were balled into fists to keep the fingers warm. Molly wrapped him in a brief hug and pressed a warm cup of something in his hand before shooing him upstairs. He went with a smile, sipping the drink—turned out to be cider—and walked into the boys' room. The twins and Ron were still dead asleep, as Harry had assumed, so he quietly removed his hoodie and shoes and set his skateboard down near the door. The cider was set on the only nightstand in the room—next to Fred's bed—and Harry slipped across the room and sat down on George's bed.

The redhead was sleeping peacefully, and Harry recognized the faint scent of alcohol on his breath. He assumed that if George was sleeping off a hangover, Fred was too, and probably Ron. With a smile that was part sympathy for the Weasleys and part self-pity for missing the party last night, Harry gently pushed George over and slipped under the covers, curling into George's chest, lighting clutching the older boy's thin shirt. George sighed in his sleep, shifting to accommodate the body next to him by wrapping an arm around Harry's waist and pulling him close. Harry smiled into George's chest, letting his eyes fall shut and hoping Ron wouldn't wake up first.

George opened his eyes to a mess of black hair in his face. Around the throbbing in his head he tried to remember if he had brought someone home with him last night..._What was their name again? _The person next to him shifted closer and George caught sight of a familiar face that even his hangover could recognize. _When did Harry get here? _he wondered, brushing a hand through the dancer's hair.

"Harry," he whispered, his hand moving from the black hair to the side of Harry's face. The boy's eyes fluttered open, revealing shocking green irises glassy from sleep.

"Hey, George," Harry mumbled, stretching his legs out. George pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead.

"When did you show up here?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Around noon, I think. Whose party last night?"

"Fuck if I know. I just showed up!" he exclaimed, still stroking Harry's face. "What happened to your face?" Harry shrugged.

"I'll tell you later," he mumbled into the pillow. George looked at him solemnly, running two fingers across the red mark on Harry's cheek. "Alright, then. I'm going to go shower and get some coffee—my head is fucking killing me," George said, pushing himself up. Harry snuggled further into the blankets.

"M'kay. I'm staying here," he mumbled with a content grin. George rolled his eyes and climbed over Harry to the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to his head.

"Fuuuuck," he moaned, stumbling out of the room and down the hall. Harry heard him crash into the trash bin next to the stairs before he pulled the covers around his shoulders and drifted back to sleep.

He woke up to Ron shaking him and ripping the covers off George's bed. Harry groaned and opened his eyes, scowling.

"Whadaya want...?" he said, pressing his face into the pillow.

"Get up, man, mom's got breakfast—uh—lunch for us!" Ron exclaimed. Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Come on, it's like...two o'clock. What time did you get here anyway?" he asked. Harry shrugged, dragging himself out of the bed and running hands through his hair to attempt to tame it.

"Around twelve or something like that."

"Have you eaten already?" Ron asked as the two left the bedroom. Harry looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"What do you _think?" _he asked. Ron shrugged with a slightly sheepish expression.

"Thought I'd ask," he pointed out. Harry punched his arm and dodged Ron's fist coming back at him. "Hey! Don't be mean to the kid with the hangover, here!"

"RON! I HEARD THAT!" Molly screamed from the shop downstairs. Ron looked to Harry with wide eyes.

"Damn, Ron. That's chores for the rest of the day," George chirped from the kitchen. Harry snickered while Ron groaned and walked out of the bedroom. Ron sat down at the family table, grabbing a plate and helping himself to a large pile of scrambled eggs. "Come on toothpick, get in here," George said, looking at Harry, who had been hovering near the door. The black-haired teen glared at him but sat down and piled eggs on his plate.

"Where's Fred?" Ron asked.

"Right here," came the answer, as Fred walked in and ruffled Harry's hair before taking a seat next to his twin. "Ginny's gone though—I don't think she even came home last night," he mentioned.

"She's with some guy...um...I can't remember his name..." Ron said. The three Weasley boys shrugged, used to Ginny's behavior. She could look after herself for the most part.

The four boys finished their breakfast and Harry helped Ron clean the kitchen up while Fred and George narrated last night's party for him.

"We called, like, ten times, but the line was busy every time! You were supposed to come with us to the Zone!" Ron exclaimed, rinsing the sink out. Harry shrugged.

"Um…yeah. It's not busy...it's cut. Vernon didn't pay the phone bill," Harry explained, sinking down into a kitchen chair. The twins scowled, ignoring the fact that Harry didn't mention the Zone.

"How're we gonna get in touch with you?" Fred whined. Harry smiled at him and shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess I'll try and come 'round here more often and see you guys."

"And we can always just drop by your place," Ron added, leaning on the counter. Harry nodded.

"So...cut phone line...how're the rest of the bills faring?" Fred asked seriously. Ron rolled his eyes and mentioned something about finances and hangovers, but he stayed to listen to his friend. Harry ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it slightly.

"I don't know...not well, I guess. I had this big—huge—fight with Vernon last night about paying them. He said we've been living off loan money for the last few years, but he can't take anymore out until he starts paying some of it back. The bank account's dry. And we owe a couple months back to Slughorn for the apartment. Vernon certainly doesn't have a plan to pay rent and utilities, and Slughorn's a goddamn slave driver. There's no way he's going to let us off the hook, and the bill for this month comes next week." Harry sighed, putting his head down on the table.

"And if you don't pay this next bill?" George asked hesitantly.

"We're outta there. Vernon's moving in with Marge—she's visiting sometime next week—and I'll probably tag around with Seamus," Harry answered. There was somber silence in the kitchen for a long time.

"Are you okay, then...with the fight and all?" Fred finally asked. Harry shrugged, lifting his head from the table.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a few bruises and a pulled muscle. He took most of the damage, actually," Harry answered, rubbing his sore elbow. "Just forget it...I'll figure it out. Get a job or something and make a deal with Slughorn...What are we doing today?" he said, forcing a cheerful smile onto his face. George and Fred didn't look convinced, but the issue was dropped and the four boys discussed plans for the day.

…

Harry lay in his bed, hair wet from the cold shower he had recently stepped out of. Goosebumps ran along his chilled flesh, and although Harry couldn't see them in the darkness, their bumpy presence was obvious enough to him as he massaged his sore elbow, wondering if it would magically heal before ballet tomorrow. He could bend it comfortably by now, but putting weight or carrying anything heavy was painful. Lifting girls was out as long as the muscle was injured, as were any ground moves in hip-hop.

With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes and burrowed further into his blankets, shivering. Sleep was slow to come; it was already one in the morning, and Harry kept jumping at every slam of a door or shout that came from the surrounding apartments. Vernon wasn't home yet, and besides checking on him in the morning, Harry hadn't seen him all day. If he came home remembering Harry had actually knocked him out last night...there would be hell to pay.

After half an hour of tossing and turning and shivering, Harry finally drifted into a restless sleep.

He woke up to the sounds of violent vomiting, no doubt his hung over uncle had just come home from the bars. Harry looked at his clock and made out the hands resting at six fifteen. With a groan he rolled over and slammed his ratty pillow over his ears, trying to drown out the sound of his uncle emptying his stomach in the bathroom. At least, he hoped it was in the bathroom. Cleaning up Vernon's vomit was probably the grossest thing Harry could think of, not that he wasn't practiced at it.

Harry gave up trying to go back to sleep: he would need to be up for school in an hour anyway, and Vernon was making too much noise to fully block it out. The dancer lay huddled under his pillow until the heavy sound of Vernon passing out on the floor was heard, and even then, Harry didn't move, just listening to the sounds of the city around him.

Fleeting thoughts of his classmates' lives passed through his head. He wondered if Hermione and her mother were awake right now, doing homework together, making breakfast, maybe reading. Or Doug. Doug was probably sleeping, like Justin and Dennis probably were. What about Luna? Harry imagined her fully awake, drinking tea and walking through the city bear-foot, just to explore the early morning atmosphere.

And Draco? Harry smiled into his mattress, blushing when he thought of Draco waking up, showering, fixing his hair, picking out an outfit. Maybe eating breakfast with his mother, if she was at home. Harry couldn't imagine Draco's father, except for a hard-faced, rather cold man. Draco didn't seem to be very close to his father anyway.

The time passed quickly as Harry imagined his friends' lives, ignoring his uncle's occasional groans, clutching the pillow harder when Vernon woke and continued to vomit. The large man had passed out again by the time Harry emerged from his pillow and blankets, hurrying to dress in the chilly apartment. He threw his dance bag together, packing his homework and the textbooks he had brought from school.

The fridge was empty, but Harry found an old can of soup in one of the cabinets. He opened it with a rusting can-opener and ate the soup for breakfast, knowing lunch would either be skipped or covered by the school. While he was finishing the soup, Harry heard his uncle wake once more. He tensed, ready to dash out of the apartment if Vernon emerged from the bathroom. The door was open and Harry could make out the hulking form of Vernon, his bruised head swollen from the skateboard. Vernon did nothing but roll over, and Harry had to fight his own gag reflex when he saw vomit all down his uncle's shirt.

The soup was immediately rendered unappetizing and Harry put the remains in the fridge, hoping Vernon wouldn't eat it later in the day. He wouldn't mind having something to eat after coming home from the dance shop.

Remembering he was indeed going to 'work' today, Harry ran back into his room to find the nicest outfit he had in his boxes. He came out with the last clean shirt that wasn't ripped or faded, and a pair of black slacks that had seen better days, but were still in fairly decent shape. No holes, after all. He carefully packed them in his bag and, putting on his hoodie and windbreaker, left the apartment.

…

"Hey Harry!" Hermione chirped, giving him a brief hug at his locker. Harry smiled at her. "How was your morning?" she asked innocently. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh...it was a...normal morning," he said slowly, images of his vomit-covered uncle coming to mind. He gave her another smile. "How was yours?"

"Wonderful! My mother and I went out to breakfast, which we hardly ever do, and the food was fantastic!" she said, beaming. Harry pulled his English textbook from his locker and shut it.

"That's great, Hermione," he held up the book, "gotta get to class, though." Hermione nodded frantically and waved as she ran down the hallway towards her own locker. While Harry was walking to Mrs. Granger's classroom, Luna approached him.

"Hello Harry," she said softly. He glanced at her, taking in the eclectic outfit and jewelry she was wearing today.

"Uh...hi Luna," Harry said. Luna gave him a small smile before walking off, leaving Harry to watch her leave with curious eyes. The warning bell rung, shocking him from his reverie, and Harry hurried the rest of the way to English 10.

The day passed quickly for a Monday, especially after lunch because of hip-hop and chemistry. Harry was able to escape ground-work in class due to his elbow, which was feeling better than it had yesterday, but was still bothersome.

In Chemistry Harry could see Snape staring at him for lengthy periods of time, like he had last Thursday and Friday. The excessive monitoring made him nervous and more jumpy than normal, and it seemed that he flinched every time someone spoke to him. While he enjoyed chemistry, for the most part, Harry was relieved to leave the classroom and his professor's disturbing gaze.

While Harry had never confronted Justin, Dennis, Neville, or Luna about the eating disorder issue, it seemed that Hermione and Doug had, because he kept getting apologies from Neville and Dennis looked remorseful every time he glanced in Harry's direction. The dancer didn't bring it up again for fear Neville would burst into guilty tears or something like that—he seemed like a rather emotional guy, even for an actor.

The unspoken conversation that all of them were imagining at the lunch table made the period into an oddly tense affair, even though Harry accepted the lunch Hermione brought him without protest. By the end of the day, however, Harry felt that most of his new friends at Hogwarts were loosening up a bit—they weren't acting as if he was about to explode every time someone breathed wrong.

The last period of the day seemed to drag on and on for Harry, who was excited for his first day of work. He had spoken with Hermione and Doug about it, although he left out it was a trade for dance clothes, and the two friends had readily agreed to walk him over there. All through partnering Harry found it hard to concentrate—it was a good thing Hermione had been his partner and understood his excitement. When the bell rang Harry all but flew out of the door with his bag. He grabbed a stall in the bathroom and changed in record speed, only to have to wait on bouncing feet until Hermione and Doug had their gear packed.

With waves to teachers and friends whom they passed in the hall, the three friends walked out of the art school and began the short trek to A6th street.

Regulus gave Harry and his friends a beaming smile when they entered the shop.

"Harry!" the shop owner explained, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry contained his reflexive flinch and smiled at his boss.

"Hello, Regulus. These are my friends Hermione and Doug," Harry said, gesturing to the teens standing next to him. Regulus nodded at them and gave a wink to Hermione.

"I remember you, kiddo. How are those pointe shoes working out for you?" he asked. Hermione brightened.

"Wonderfully! I'm so glad you recommended them. They're _perfect_," she exclaimed. Regulus nodded and glanced to the clock on the wall.

"Well, Harry, why don't you go store your things in the back room. Bring the paperwork back out here and we'll take a bit to look it over. Then I can show you the ropes," Regulus said. Harry nodded and waved to his friends before disappearing into the back room. Doug and Hermione took the hint and left the shop, Hermione filling Doug in on the finer points of the pointe shoes Regulus had sold to her at the beginning of the year.

Harry settled into his job quickly. There was little challenging about his duties—mainly stocking, folding, organizing, and helping customers as they drifted through. And while the work itself was not entertaining, Harry found that he was soon attached to Regulus' cheerful attitude and dry wit. The two worked well together, Regulus talking almost non-stop and Harry happily listening. By the time Harry's first day at the shop was finished, the young dancer could hardly wait for his next shift the following day.

When Harry trudged into the dilapidated apartment, Vernon was just shrugging on a coat and preparing to leave. Harry refused to meet his eye, silently but quickly moving into his closet, where he remained until he heard the door to the apartment slam close and Vernon's footsteps fading down the hall. Harry carefully opened his door, rubbing his eyes and walking to the kitchen. The soup that he had saved for dinner had been eaten already, so he scrounged around in the cabinets until he found stale crackers. There was a bit of hard cheese left over that he cut up and ate along with the crackers.

Dinner felt more like a snack, but Harry was able to ignore his aching hunger afterwards and start in on his homework. He felt asleep on his algebra textbook, pencil in hand.

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Thanks ever so much for reading! I would appreciate reviews, and those that offer some serious comments or questions I will do my best to respond you. Thank you all!

-The Wykkyd


	18. Evicted

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated plot lines/characters do not belong to me.

**A/N**: Well, um, hi! I'm back. Turns out that I lost EVERYTHING that had to do with this story, as well as about four other completed/in-progress stories that I was planning on working on after finishing up TF. So I'm just re-writing everything beyond the last chapter that I updated with. :( I'm very disappointed. This may be my last story on ff . net for a while because I just can't bring myself to re-write the other stories that I lost. I'll finish this story, though, I promise. It's going to be shorter than I originally planned, though, to be honest. Hopefully it will be just as good.

Thanks to everyone who gave me ideas and suggestions for the remainder of the story. I took every one into consideration-so keep your eye out for something that you may have inspired! Those who commented with encouragement and support made the whole HD crash a lot easier for me to deal with. Thanks.

I hope you like this chapter!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Evicted**

Draco sat at the table, drumming the fingers of his left hand in the patterns of the G and A scales. His right hand was turning through the pages of the newspaper, but his eyes were doing little more than skimming. Instead of local news, Draco's thoughts were revolving around the mysterious Harry Potter.

It would have been hard to ignore how attractive Harry was if it weren't for his just as attractive personality and mysterious circumstances, but Draco figured this was a good thing because he wasn't sure how Harry would take it if he slammed him against the lockers and kissed him senseless. But Harry was more than just a beautiful face: Draco liked how Harry looked at people from the corner of his eye, he liked how observant Harry was of his surroundings, he liked how piercing Harry's glare was, he liked how stubborn he was.

Taking a sip of coffee, Draco wondered what he would normally do in a situation like this. Then he realized he had never been in a situation like this. Normally, if he wanted someone he didn't care if they were friends first or not, or if they would be friends after. Harry was different, and Draco wasn't about to sacrifice his tentative friendship with the dancer for something as simple as sex. He was fine to drag it out, savour every bit of Harry that the dancer would give him. _What f I'm reading Harry all wrong? What if he only wants to be friends and isn't thinking of anything more? _Draco shook his head, laughing at his own insecurity. Here it was, Draco Malfoy questioning whether or not someone wanted to be with him for the first time. _God, is this how everyone else feels? I feel so badly for them all. _

"Draco?" the maid entered the room, smiling at her charge. "It's almost time for you to leave. I packed a lunch for you; it's in your bag." Draco smiled back at her.

"Thanks, Melinda. Breakfast was great."

"You didn't eat much," she said disapprovingly. The blond shrugged.

"Not very hungry, I guess," he answered.

"Alright then. What's the paper have to say this morning?" she asked as she began clearing his place. Draco frowned when he realized he had no idea what was in the paper, despite staring at it for the last half and hour.

"I, ahh...I have no idea. My mind was on something else." Melinda chuckled.

"Who's the girl, then?" she asked slyly. Draco rolled his eyes.

"There is no girl. No anyone. I'm just distracted," he corrected her, even though he knew she wouldn't believe him. He could never lie to her very well. The older woman gave him a knowing look and Draco decided to change the subject before she pressed on. "Say, my father didn't leave a message last night, did he?"

"No, dear. I'll tell you if he calls today, but I believe his plans to return on Wednesday are still in place."

"And my mother?" Melinda shook her head.

"She'll be in New York for the week, she said. Flies back in Friday afternoon. Did you want to have anyone over to keep you company?" The maid asked kindly. Draco sighed and shook her head.

"No. I may stay with Blaise one of these nights., though. I'll be sure to let you know that morning so you can have the night off," Draco said. Melinda nodded and bustled out of the room with Draco's dishes, leaving the teen alone. Glaring at the family portrait on the wall, Draco snatched the newspaper from its place and balled it up, tossing it in the kitchen trash before heading back to his room to pack up his violin.

His father had left on Friday for a business trip of some sorts; he went on so many Draco couldn't keep track of what he was doing anymore. His mother had left yesterday for another fashion show in New York that she was helping to organize. When Draco had been younger and less serious about the violin he would occasionally accompany her-something his father never approved of-but since he needed to practice several hours each day now he never went with her. With his parents gone so often Draco wondered if he shouldn't just get his own place or better yet, stay in the dorms with Blaise. He spent nights over there often enough as it was.

Draco packed his instrument up quickly, taking his sheet music off the music stand next to his bed and leaving the room. Melinda had already brought his bag downstairs near the door. The blond called goodbye to her before leaving the house. His car was parked out front, where he always left it when his father wasn't home. Lucius always insisted that he park in the garage, but Draco didn't like the extra walk through the garage and then having to wait for the door to open. It was much faster to park in the driveway, and he trusted his security system more than his father did.

The school was still fairly empty when Draco arrived, walking down the hall with his book bag, music bag, and violin. He stored his bag away in his locker on the second floor and then went up to the third to warm up before his first class of the day. It was only music theory, and it never required him to play, but Draco would rather play something in the morning than nothing at all-if not just for the peace of mind playing brought him.

Alone in the small practice room Draco set his instrument and music down on the floor, reveling in the silence that surrounded him. A few soft strands of music reached his ears from other practicing students, but the ventilated air was mostly still and quiet. The practice rooms had always been his favorite place in the school, save for the large theater that was used for performances. After taking his violin out and tightening the bow, Draco closed his eyes and began to play, the vibrations of the strings lulling him into meditation.

Classes blurred together, kept separate only because occasionally Draco would see Blaise, or Vince and Greg in between classes. He kept looking for a mop of messy black hair, but Harry never crossed his path. Draco told himself he wasn't disappointed about it. It was during lunch that Draco finally spotted Harry. The dancer was sitting by himself today, which was odd, because he was almost always surrounded by his other sophomore friends. Hermione and the rest of them were sitting a little ways away from Harry, and Draco noticed them shooting concerned glances at the dancer. Giving a flippant wave to Blaise who was insisting that Draco sit down and eat with him, Draco walked over to Hermione and cleared his throat for attention.

"What's with Harry?" he asked quietly, so the din of the cafeteria would keep Harry from overhearing. Hermione and Doug shrugged.

"He's been quiet all day. Bit depressed, actually. He wouldn't talk to me at all and refused to sit with us," Hermione explained. Draco nodded, looking over to where the dancer was slouched at his table. Even from several yards away Draco could see the dark circles under his eyes.

"I'll see if I can get him to talk," Draco said, shoving his hands in his pockets. As he passed by Doug he saw the dark-haired teen roll his eyes and then glare at his lunch. Draco ignored him.

Harry didn't look up as the blond approached his table, but jumped as Draco sat down next to him, so close that their shoulders were brushing.

"Oh, Draco," Harry said, obviously startled. He scooted several inches away from Draco, apparently uncomfortable with their proximity.

"Hi, Harry," Draco said quietly, setting his bag down beside him and taking the lunch that Melinda had packed out of it.

"Did Hermione send you over?" Harry asked dully. Draco shook his head with a smile.

"No. I came over without prompting, thanks," he said, settling in to eat his sandwich. Harry went back to staring at his food, until Draco prodded his shoulder. "Eat." Harry picked up his fork obediently, too tired to argue or be stubborn.

He had woken in a state of hopelessness, listening to his uncle stumble around the bathroom, vomiting all over the place. The noise wouldn't leave his head. Exhaustion plagued him. He wanted to be anywhere else than Hogwarts, but really, Harry didn't want to be anywhere at all. He sighed, shoving a bit of noodles into his mouth and pushing his tray away, putting his head down on the table. He was too tired to even flinch when Draco put a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

Draco's brow creased when he felt Harry's back through his thin shirt. His shoulder blades and spine were disgustingly apparent, and each individual rib was clearly felt as well. _Why won't he eat? _Draco wondered. _He's practically starving in front of my eyes. _When Harry's back began trembling Draco swung his legs off the cafeteria bench and stood up, still pressing his hand to Harry's back. Gently, Draco used his other hand to grip Harry's arm and turn him around.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Draco whispered in the boy's ear, pulling him to a standing position and wrapping an arm around him. Draco grabbed Harry's lunch tray with his other hand, leaving his own lunch and bag for Blaise or someone else to grab for him.

Draco walked Harry out of the cafeteria, leading him down the hall and up the stairs until they reached studio one. Draco set Harry's lunch down on the small table beside the couch and sat down, pulling Harry with him until the smaller teen was curled by his side, his face pressed to Draco's shoulder. The blond could feel tears soaking his shirt.

"Harry," Draco whispered in sympathy, wrapping both arms around the crying boy as Harry's hands fisted in his shirt. Draco glanced down at the bony fingers gripping his fine pressed shirt, but didn't say anything about the atrocious wrinkles he would have. It wasn't that important really. Minutes dragged by, the only sounds that of Harry's uneven sobs and Draco's quiet breathing. When the hands loosened on Draco's shirt, the blond tilted Harry's face up to look at him, using one thumb to brush tears away. "Harry, you've got to talk to someone. You've got to tell them what's going on so they can help," he whispered, looking deep into the dancer's glassy green eyes. Harry just shook his head.

"That's how it works in the movies. Not in real life," the dancer whispered. Draco didn't know what to say that would convince Harry otherwise, so he stayed silent, running his hands through Harry's hair. For once Harry's eyes didn't drop; instead, he held Draco's gaze with steady intent. Draco returned the stare, his hands growing more bold. One slipped down the back of Harry's neck as the other drifted to cup Harry's jaw, fingers pressed to Harry's cheek.

"Please, Harry. Let someone in," Draco pleaded. Harry's eyes dropped then, and Draco almost let his hands fall away from the boy in defeat.

"Draco, I know you want me to talk to you about it, okay."

"You could talk to anyone and I'd be happy, Harry," Draco said firmly, although a small part of him had hoped Harry would trust him enough to talk to him about whatever was going on with the dancer. Harry shifted, moving his face torso more to face Draco. The blond let his hands fall away but instead of moving away, Harry scooted closer, resting his head on Draco's shoulder.

"I wish I could talk to you about this, really. I don't want you to think I don't...I don't know." Harry sighed, and Draco brought his arms up to wrap around Harry. "You don't want to get wrapped up in my life right now, that's why I'm not talking to you or any of my other friends here. I don't know who could take it all and not flip out, so I'm just not talking," he explained.

"Snape could help you. I know it," Draco said quickly. "You can trust him, Harry." The dancer only shrugged in reply, and Draco felt that pushing the issue now would ruin things. Harry had at least explained why he wouldn't talk to his friends. They had made progress. Draco smiled, turning his face so that his nose pressed into Harry's hair as his arms wrapped more tightly around the boy. The dancer shifted to get more comfortable again, eventually pushing Draco onto his back and curling against his side.

"Wake me when lunch ends," Harry whispered, his eyes drifting closed. Draco nodded, fighting the urge to kiss Harry's temple.

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Harry entered his apartment with trepidation: he could hear his uncle's yells from down the hall. However, it turned out that slipping through the door without being seen or noticed wasn't a problem, because Harry saw that Vernon and the landlord were preoccupied. Unwilling to get into the middle of an argument that may turn violent, Harry ducked into his closet of a room and shut the door behind him, crouching down to peer through the hole where the door knob should have been.

The issue was obviously about the rent, as there was no other reason for Slughorn to be in their apartment, Harry knew. He sighed, sitting down and leaning his back against the door. Slughorn was gaining the upper hand quickly, while Vernon was slurring his words and making pathetic excuses that made Harry cringe.

"You're not staying here another week without paying! I'm sick of you freeloader piece of shits!" Slughorn raged, slapping something against the countertop. Harry turned to look back through the door knob hole and saw that Slughorn was holding a stack of red notices in his hand.

"Get out!" Vernon yelled in return, ripping the red notices from Slughorn's hand and tossing them violently into the man's face. Harry thought the landlord would explode from rage. The rotund man raised a finger, poking Vernon harshly in the chest.

"This is no longer your home to tell me to get out of. I hereby proclaim that you are permanently evicted from the residence. You will take your brat kid and be gone within the next forty eight hours. If you remain longer than that I will call the police," Slughorn snapped, emphasizing his words with sharp jabs to Vernon's chest. Harry turned away from the hole in his door. He didn't need to see any more. Vernon had lost: they were once more evicted from an apartment, and neither of them had anyway to go, although Harry supposed that when Marge arrived in town the next day she would fix something up for Vernon. She always did, it seemed. The question was if Marge would let Harry tag along, or if he would be permanently kicked out onto the streets.

He heard the door slam and the sound of glass hitting the wood. The bottle didn't break, and Vernon threw another one, apparently unsatisfied with the first. Harry half expected Slughorn to come marching back in about property crimes. He listened to his uncle furiously staggering back and forth in the living room, occasionally shattering bottles on the counter or pitching cans at the walls. Then Harry heard the sound of another can being opened, heavy footsteps, and then Vernon's bedroom door slammed shut and the television started booming moments later. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and crawled to his bag, which he unpacked before starting on homework, keeping an ear on Vernon just in case. It wasn't long before the television turned off and Vernon's door opened again, his feet trampling a way to Harry's closet. The dancer shoved all his homework and the textbooks under the mattress just before his uncle barged in, red faced and obviously still furious. Harry put his hands out to intervene any kick Vernon sent his way.

"No good piece of shit is right!" the man yelled. Harry hurried to stand up, awkwardly dodging a vicious kick. "You never do anything around here! All you do is go off to your school and come back. You never earn your fucking keep! Petunia would never have stood for it," he growled.

"Oh yeah, because your fat ass does everything around here, huh? Who gets the mail? Who cleans up all your trash, your puke, your spilled beer? Who drags you into your room when you pass out in the hall at three in the fucking morning?" Harry yelled in return, even though he knew Vernon would make him pay for his disrespect. Vernon only laughed in response, and Harry figured he hadn't been listening—probably for the best. His uncle's fish lashed out, but it was clear that the man was too drunk to properly aim his hits. Harry felt the impact glance off his arm. It stung a bit but wouldn't even leave a bruise. He dodged another fist with ease, but the third punch knocked him solidly in the shoulder. Harry grimaced and turned so he was facing his uncle squarely. Escaping the closet was impossible: Vernon's bulk was blocking the way to the door and Harry didn't think he could dodge too many of his uncle's hits, no matter how intoxicated the man was.

Harry grabbed Vernon's fist the next time it lashed out at him, pulling forward with all his strength. The momentum of the punch as well as Harry's pull sent Vernon flying into the wall, leaving the door free for Harry to dash through. Glad he had kept his shoes on, Harry glanced back once to see his uncle gathering what remained of his wits then ran out the door, down the hall, and outside. Breathing hard, Harry leaned against the wall near the door, taking in the large and mostly empty parking lot in front of him. He knew that Vernon would lock him out, but Harry figured that once his uncle had passed out he could break back into the apartment and finish his homework. Pulling his hood up and shoving his hands in the pockets of his torn jeans, Harry put his head down and began wandering, intent on returning to the apartment in two hours or so.

The time didn't pass slowly, especially as the evening grew cold and windy. By the time Harry assumed at least an hour and a half had passed he returned to the apartment building and walked down the hall to Vernon's apartment. He didn't hear anything behind the thin door, so Harry jogged down to the mailboxes at the other end of the hall and entered the password to the Dudley box. In the far back—Harry knew Vernon never reached there—the dancer kept a stiff paper clip and a torque wrench for picking his uncle's lock. It took him a minute to press the pins into the right positions, but soon the door was open and welcome silence greeted him. Harry returned the picks to their place in the mailbox and went back into the apartment.

It was two in the morning before he turned off the flashlight and put away his homework, immediately falling asleep on the lumpy mattress.

School on Wednesday dragged by for several reasons. First, there was his depressed mood, then the exhaustion, then his sore shoulder from where his uncle had hit him. On top of that, his month of probation from therapy was up by tomorrow, and it would be the first day that Mr. Black was back in the office. Snape had gone back to giving him odd looks as well, which made chemistry an even more uncomfortable period, and lastly, Draco had locked himself in a practice room during every spare moment and thus Harry never got to see him.

With the way his day was going, it was not a surprise to find that upon entering the apartment, both his aunt Marge and uncle were sitting on the couch chatting, Ripper at their feet. Harry spared them one glance before he ducked into his closet and softly shut the door, letting his backpack fall to the ground. His momentary peace did not last for more than a minute, however, as Marge came barging through the closet door and dragged Harry out of the room by his collar, flinging him into the center of the living room. Ripper gave a vicious bark.

"Well, boy, we're moving and _you're_ going to do all the packing," she said. Harry grimaced, always straightforward, she was. From the couch Vernon was nodding his agreement.

"I have homework," Harry said dryly, even though he knew there was no chance of him getting out of this one. His disrespect earned him a ruff cuff on the side of his head and a shake.

"Think I care, boy?" Marge replied, shaking him once more for good measure and pushing him away from her. Harry stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell to the floor. He stood and stepped back, trying to put some space between him and his relatives. Vernon was glaring at him from the couch.

"Just have everything packed by tomorrow at one, that's when the mover guy's comin' for all the shit," he said, waving his hand around the room. There really wouldn't be too much to pack up, Harry figured, but he didn't have much time to do it because he had to be at the school the next morning. The dancer glanced around the room and then back to his aunt and uncle. Neither seemed to be motivated to do any packing, so Harry figured that he really would be doing all of it. At least Marge had brought some large boxes with her.

"Sure, whatever," Harry mumbled, putting his head down in defeat and shuffling back into his room. He was too tired to argue with them, especially when it would probably only lead to him getting whaled on by two Dursleys. A bottle shattered against the door to his room just after Harry had shut it. He flinched and moved to sit on his bed, pulling out his homework. He was hoping that Vernon and Marge would go out sometime that night so he could pack without them staring at him.

Indeed, two hours later Vernon and Marge left the apartment to find dinner. Harry assumed she would be paying for everything, because God knew that Vernon didn't have any cash. With a sigh Harry stood up and stretched his sore muscles, massaging his shoulder as he left his room and surveyed the kitchen and living room. It really would take all night to pack.

It was a long night. Harry sorted kitchen utensils into boxes, packed up the measly contents of the bathroom, and tossed all the blankets and torn linens into plastic garbage bags. The TV from his uncle's room, the furniture, and the mattresses were all pushed into the living room near the door. He hauled bags and bags of beer cans and liquor bottles out to the dumpsters behind the apartment complex until his already injured shoulder was throbbing. Around three thirty in the morning Harry sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands, rubbing his burning bloodshot eyes. He was past exhaustion and starving, although he knew that there was no food in the apartment because he had just packed everything up. With a sigh Harry flopped over so he was lying down on the couch. The bulk of the packing was done, and Harry figured Vernon and Marge would wake him when they came home.

But it wasn't Marge or Vernon who woke Harry up at five thirty, it was Ripper. The dancer jerked awake with a shout and saw that Ripper had firmly lodged his teeth in his calf.

"Get the fuck off me!" Harry yelled, kicking the dog with his free foot. When the dog didn't let go Harry kicked it again, right in the face. Ripper fell backwards off the couch with a whimper, slinking off to sit between Marge's large feet. Harry looked up to see his aunt red-faced and furious—and very drunk. Harry swallowed and braced himself.

"How _dare _you kick my poor Ripper!" Marge shrieked, stumbling forwards. It wasn't hard for Harry to scramble out of her way, but his scrambling put him nearer to his uncle than he was comfortable with. Vernon had a very dazed look on his face and Harry wondered for a moment if he was high on something before Marge's enraged yell focused him again. "My poor dog! How dare you _touch _him!" Harry ducked the second hit she aimed at him, then had to dodge Vernon who seemed to have joined his sister. Harry managed to get near the door, ready to bolt if his relatives didn't calm down soon.

"Ripper's, fine, Marge. Look at him!" Harry pleaded, pointed at the dog who was now snarling at him. Harry rolled his eyes. Marge spared a glance towards her dog for a moment and then rushed at Harry, Vernon close behind. Harry ran to the corner of the room, being careful to avoid the bottles on the floor that he hadn't gotten around to picking up. Suddenly Vernon was in his face and raising a fist that Harry knew he couldn't get away from in time. He turned his face away and brought his hands up, but too late. Pain exploded in his skull and Harry slid down the wall, black spots invading his vision and his ears ringing furiously. Another burst of pain came from his ribs, but Harry couldn't get his hands to move to check the damage or block a second kick. Then Harry couldn't get anything to move and he simply toppled over, his head and shoulder smacking against the floor as he fell. For a moment Harry panicked, but his accelerated breathing only made his chest hurt more, and then the spots began moving together until Harry could only see black.

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Thanks again to all of you who commented on my note about the hard drive crash. I love you all! Let me know how this chapter was.

-Wykkyd


	19. Exposure

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, associated characters, or associated plotlines.

A/N: Of course, I am truly sorry about the long wait I've put you all through. Re-writing this story has become a bit tedious, but I'm still writing! I have no intention of giving up on this story, I'm just very busy during the semester. I hope you enjoy this!

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Exposure

Thirteenth to Fifth

Harry became conscious very slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the dull pain in his head, then the pain from his chest flared to life. He listened for any signs of life in the apartment but heard nothing—Vernon and Marge were either asleep or getting breakfast. For several seconds Harry believed that maybe they had already moved and just left him, but that didn't make much sense. It took him another five minutes to open his eyes, and even the dim light in the room seemed blinding. His breathing was labored and loud to his ears. His lips were chapped and his lower lip hurt like he had bitten it without realizing the night before.

The throb in his head didn't let up when the dancer pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning on the wall so he didn't collapse back to the floor. The room spun for a moment until he got used to the vertical position. Even then he remained dizzy.

Harry crawled over to his box of belongs and dug through it until he found his alarm clock. It was eleven in the morning. He had already missed almost three classes, not to mention his appointment with Mr. Black. Harry groaned and tossed the clock back in the box, lying down on the floor. He swore that he could feel it moving underneath him. Unconsciousness covered his mind with fog.

When he woke later his head hurt less, although various parts of his body were developing sore spots and bruises. Harry pushed himself up and then stood, using the wall for support. He looked around the living room, taking the boxes and the unusually small number of bottles on the floor. _What happened? _he wondered, trying his hardest to remember. There was something about moving, and packing, and then…Ripper? Harry shook his head very lightly, but he couldn't remember anything after Ripper. But with the way his cheekbone, head, and ribcage hurt Harry figured that Vernon had something to do with how he woke up on the floor.

Harry slid back down the wall, considering his options. Going to school would be pointless. By now he had missed almost the whole day. He wondered what the policy for unexcused absences was. He had a strong desire to see Fred and George, as he always did when things got really bad. But he had no phone to call them with. Harry sighed, dropping his head into his hands and closing his eyes. Maybe the best thing to do was just go back to sleep, wait for Vernon and Marge to come home from job-hunting or lunch or wherever they were. But Harry didn't want to go back to sleep, so he stood up again and stumbled out of the apartment and down the hall to the neighbors'. He knocked on their door.

The thin woman who lived with her two kids there opened the door, giving Harry a tense smile when she recognized him. He realized that he hadn't checked in the mirror before going over there. He figured he looked pretty bad. Bruised, swollen, probably dried blood somewhere on his face. It sure hurt enough. He attempted a smile.

"Um…can I use your phone? Local number, I'll only be a minute. Promise," he said. Harry thought his voice sounded funny, as if he wasn't really the one talking. God, he was going crazy. Maybe he had a concussion or something.

The woman—Harry couldn't remember her name at the moment—looked at him as if trying to decide if he was trying to break in to her house.

"Please, ma'am," he said softly, trying to give her his most innocent look. The woman didn't look convinced and Harry didn't blame her. Looking innocent is hard when half your face is swollen.

"I guess. Just wait here. I'll bring it out to you." The door snapped shut and opened a minute later. The woman now had one of her kids on her hip, a small boy with brown hair. Harry smiled at him as much as he could with his swollen face and accepted the phone. The little boy leaned over to whisper in his mother's ear.

"What happened to him, mama?" the kid whispered. Harry blushed and turned away while the woman tried to shush her son. He dialed George's cell number, counting the rings and praying he would answer.

"_Uh….hello?" _came the hesitant voice.

"Hey man, it's me. Uh…Harry."

"_Jesus I thought you'd never call! I haven't seen you in forever!" _George exclaimed. Harry glanced at the woman, who was waiting for him in her doorway.

"Um, yeah, look…could you, would you mind um…coming over here for a bit? I just…well, yeah," Harry said, stuttering nervously. He realized just how pathetic he sounded. The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"_Are you okay?"_

"I guess. I'm on my neighbor's phone. I need to go. Please come," Harry said, hating that his tone was close to begging.

"_Twenty minutes. I have to ditch class and grab Fred."_

"Bye." George hung up, and Harry quickly handed the phone back to the woman. She gave him a hard look.

"Are you alright? You're Harry, right? You live next door?" she asked, shifting her young boy to her other hip. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, that's me. And I'm fine. I just…you know. Rough night," he said, shrugging one shoulder and looking at his feet. Her hard stare turned a bit more compassionate.

"Damn right. Kept me up half the night," she said sharply.

"I'm really sorry," Harry apologized. She took a step towards him and Harry stepped back, looking at her warily. She sighed.

"Why don't you come in until your friend gets here. You look like you could use something to eat, and you're freezing," she said, stepping aside. Harry was surprised, he hadn't realized that he was cold.

"Oh…I…" The woman put a hand on his shoulder, ignoring his flinch.

"Just come in. I'll get you something to eat and a blanket. Maybe I can even find some medicine for your face," she said, pulling him inside. Harry followed her into her apartment. It had the same layout as Uncle Vernon's but there were no empty cans and the walls weren't so beat up. There were actually some decorations on the walls. Harry smiled. He knew that the place wasn't particularly fancy, but it was a hell of a lot better than his home next door. "I'm Nancy, in case you forgot. It's been a while since we've seen each other," she said.

"Yeah, I guess it has," Harry said, taking a seat on her sofa when she waved her hand for him to do so. Two more children emerged from the master bedroom. They were older than the boy on Nancy's hip and Harry gave them a smile and a wave.

"What happened to _you?_" the little girl asked. Her older brother tried to quiet her.

"Shush, that's not nice," he hissed. Harry shrugged.

"It's fine. I just got in a bit of a scrape, that's all," he said. The boy looked at him and Harry felt like he didn't believe him.

"You're the one who lives next door, right? With the fat man?" He asked. Harry laughed, wincing when his swollen face was exerted.

"Well, yeah. That's me," he said.

"Mom says that guy's a real bad man," the boy said. Harry thought he looked to be around nine. Old enough to know what happened next door, he figured, especially if his mother talked about it.

"Your mom's right," Harry answered. Nancy shuffled around the counter and pressed a bowl of warm soup in his hands.

"Eat that. Carl, would you find a blanket for Harry?" The older boy ran back into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry they ask all these questions," Nancy said, opening the freezer. Harry saw her pull out an ice pack.

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied, tasting the soup. It was from a can, but it was warm and easily the best thing he had eaten in a while.

"It's not like I talk about you a lot. But you know, these walls aren't very soundproof and eventually you can't lie to your kids about everything that happens in the world," she said with a shrugged, tossing the icepack across the room so it landed on the couch next to Harry. She sighed and leaned against the counter, pulling her dirty blonde hair back into a pony tail. Carl returned then and handed Harry a blanket. The dancer took it with a smile and wrapped it around his shoulders, balancing his soup bowl on his knees. When the blanket was settled he turned back to eating his soup, suddenly starving.

"So I heard something about you moving?" Nancy asked casually, rummaging through the fridge.

"Yeah. We're all packed and everything. Slughorn kicked us out. You know," Harry said. Nancy nodded, pulling a soda out and shutting the refrigerator door. She joined Harry on the couch, moving the ice pack out of the way so she didn't sit on it. "I hope you get better neighbors in there once we're gone."

"Yeah, I hope so too," she said with a grim smile. "I'm sure you're a nice kid, but the noise was too much. It's hard to think that your uncle beats you every night, especially when I've got kids of my own. Can't image layin' a hand on them," she mused. Harry smiled.

"That's probably how it should be. Vernon and I just went very wrong somewhere," he said softly, finishing the last spoonful of his soup. Nancy handed him the ice pack.

"For your face. Hope you'll excuse me, but I've got a craft project going for the kids. Carl and Mandy normally have school, but it's one of those parent teacher conference days. I'll be back in a bit. If your friend comes just let me know you're goin' out and be sure to lock the door behind you." Harry nodded, settling into the couch and gingerly resting his cheek on the ice.

His skin was overly sensitive and the ice seemed like it was giving him frostbite instantly. Harry hissed in pain but didn't remove the ice pack. He had to go to school tomorrow—swelling or not. The least he could do was try and minimalize it until then.

He waited fifteen more minutes before leaving. He put the ice pack back into the freezer, thanked Nancy profusely, and was sure to lock the door before leaving.

The door to Vernon's apartment was ajar, which made Harry pause for a moment and feel in his pocket to see if his knife was there. It wasn't. Harry ducked his head into the apartment cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the twin redheads.

"Hey guys," he said, walking further into the apartment. The Weasley twins spun around.

"Shit, Harry, you scared us," Fred snapped, at the same time that George exclaimed,

"Shit, Harry, what happened to your face?" Harry laughed at the two and shrugged in answer to both. "God dammit, do have any ice pack or anything in the freezer that will substitute?" George asked, already moving towards the freezer. Harry didn't answer—there wasn't anything in there, but he knew George would look no matter what he said.

"We should get you home, you need to take care of that," Fred said, moving closer to inspect the damage to Harry's face. The dancer shook his head, wincing when the sharp movement made his head rattle. Fred's blue eyes widened in concern and he grabbed the sides of Harry's head, tilting it up to the light. "Do you have a concussion? Does your head hurt? Can you see and hear everything fine? Spots, loud noise sensitivity? Any bloody noses since you woke up?"

"Jesus, Fred!" Harry mumbled, pushing Fred's arms down. "I don't have a concussion—just a bad headache. No bloody noses this morning. And I don't think there's much I can do for this anyway, it happened last night."

"Why the fuck didn't you call us?" George demanded, taking Fred's place in front of him.

"I passed out. Only woke up around eleven this morning and then I fell asleep a few minutes later. I had just woken up again right before I called you," Harry explained, allowing George to inspect his face as Fred did.

"You're sure you don't have a concussion? You don't normally pass out for that long, do you?" Fred asked. He dropped onto the couch, propping his feet up on a stack of boxes. Harry saw him looking around at the boxes with suspicion. They had a lot of catching up to do.

"If I had a concussion, it was minor. I don't know. I just have a really fucking bad headache," Harry said.

"Anything else hurt?" George asked quietly, letting his hands trail down Harry's neck. The dancer's eyes flickered shut as he sighed. A bony shoulder raised in a partial shrug.

"Bruised ribs probably, I don't know. I haven't even looked at the damage," he said. George and Fred glanced at each other with twin frowns. George tugged on Harry's shirt.

"Come on, take it off. I'm not leaving until I know you're not dying of internal bleeding or anything." Harry obediently lifted his shirt, glancing down at his chest and ribcage. There was a patch of purple skin along his left side that looked bad. George pressed two fingers to the area. "Harry, I'm going to press on this. Let me know if you think anything's broken or fractured," he warned. Harry nodded, taking a breath. George pressed lightly, and then more firmly on the bruise. Harry groaned in pain, stepping away quickly. "Harry, come on, you know someone has to do this."

"That fucking _hurts!_" he exclaimed, pressing a hand to his side.

"Sharp pain?" Harry shook his head.

"No. It really just feels like a bad bruise. Nothing's broken, I don't think." George didn't look convinced, but he didn't push the issue either. Harry sighed and dropped onto the couch that Fred was sitting on. George sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around Harry's side, careful not to bother his injury.

"So what's with the boxes?" Fred asked. Harry leaned his head back on the backrest of the sofa.

"Slughorn kicked us out a few days ago. We're moving today. Marge is here," Harry said in monotone. Fred sucked in a slow breath.

"Damn. Where are you moving to?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Fuck if I know. I just packed everything up and I suppose I'll unpack everything tonight."

"Did you call the school and work?" Fred asked. Harry sat bolt upright, his eyes wide.

"Oh _shit! _I totally forgot about work. I have to go!" he exclaimed, pushing himself off the couch. George grabbed his shoulder and pulling him down.

"_Hell_ no, bitch," he said, smiling, although his eyes were serious. "How the hell do you think you're going to explain your face? A fight? You'd be fired on the spot," he pointed out. Harry paused to consider.

"Okay. Yeah, I guess I don't want to risk it. But I have to call." George obediently handed him his phone. Harry stood up and walked over to his box, taking out all of his clothes before finding the manila envelope that he kept all his important paperwork in. Once he found the dance shop's number he dialed and waited for Regulus to pick up.

"_This is Black's Danceware, how can I help you?"_

"Um, Regulus? This is Harry," he said.

"_Oh, hey Harry. How are you?"_

"Um, actually not well. I went home sick from school today and just totally forgot to call you and let you know I can't make it in today. I promise I'll be there tomorrow though!" he said quickly.

"_Are you alright?"_

"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Really. Just sick, yeah," he stammered. Regulus paused and Harry held his breath.

"_Okay. Get better soon. If you're not better tomorrow I don't want you to come in, hear me?" _Regulus said, although his voice was kind.

"Yeah, thanks Regulus. I'll see you tomorrow," Harry said before hanging up and tossing the phone back to George, who put it back in his pocket. Fred stood up and walked into Harry's closet, taking in the bare room. As his twin continued to inspect the apartment, George shifted closer to Harry, bringing a hand up to brush over Harry's bruise.

"You're sure you're all right?" he whispered. Harry dropped his eyes, staring at his lap. He shifted, bringing his feet under his bottom. "Harry?" George asked, rubbing a thumb over Harry's lower lip.

Harry parted his lips, lightly dragging his teeth across George's thumb. The twin's thumb slipped farther into his mouth and Harry ran his tongue over it, scooting closer to his friend. George's free hand slipped over Harry's chest and up to the back of his neck, pulling the dancer closer. He removed his thumb from Harry's mouth, replacing it with his own lips.

Harry sighed when George's lips met his, slowly opening his lips further as George's tongue flicked out. The twin was rubbing soothing circles into the nape of his neck, working knots of tension away with that hand while the other slipped under his shirt to lightly brush Harry's abdomen.

"Really, guys, get a room," Fred snapped upon re-entering the living room. George seemed content to continue giving his twin a show, but Harry was much more reluctant. He pulled away from George although allowed the older boy to keep a firm arm around his back and on his stomach. Fred gave the two an appraising look as if deciding if it would be necessary to further separate them, to which George responded with a raised eyebrow and Harry smiled innocently.

"Well, what now?" George asked, looking at Harry. The dancer shrugged.

"I don't know. Um….I guess you guys'll have to split at some point, you know, before Vernon and Marge come back to move. I'm not sure when they'll be back, though," Harry said. Fred pushed on his shoulder, prompting Harry and George to make room for him on the couch.

"Well then, we'll just hang until we hear two elephants coming down the hall, then," Fred surmised, giving Harry a trademark wink. Harry gave him a smile in return, an ounce of the smile reaching his eyes. Fred felt a sense of accomplishment.

…

Vernon and Marge arrived around five that night with a U-Haul they had rented for the trip to eleventh district. Fred and George were able to slip out when, as expected, they heard heavy footsteps approaching. Harry said goodbye to them glumly, almost pushing them out the door when they both offered to stay and help.

"No, that'll just get me in more trouble at this point. I'll see you two later."

"Okay. Come by as soon as you can. God, I hate not being able to call you!" George said, pressing his lips to Harry's temple before disappearing out the door. A minute later Vernon and Marge barged into the apartment, waving their arms for Harry to get moving and load everything into the waiting U-Haul.

Harry did most of the loading, although Vernon stepped in when Harry's slim arms refused to carry the weight of the entire sofa. Upon arriving at their new 'home'—which turned out to be a long-stay motel in eleventh district—Harry did most of the unloading as well. By nine o'clock in the evening Harry was exhausted and sore and feeling almost as poorly as he had upon rising from unconsciousness earlier that day. Marge and Vernon disappeared from the motel to find something for dinner, and Harry made due with a bag of crackers that Marge had left on the counter before retrieving the sheet that had adorned his mattress and lying down on the couch. He fell asleep as soon as his head was resting on his forearm.

Harry was woken early in the morning by the door flying open and Marge and Vernon both stumbling in. Moments later there was a dull pain in his calf that quickly turned more pressing. Harry yelled in both surprise and pain, sitting up to see Ripper's teeth lodged in his leg for the second time that week.

"Get the _fuck _off of me!" Harry cried, lashing out with his free leg. His foot—which was still shoe clad—hit Ripper right in the nose. The dog skittered away to its owner, whimpering pathetically. Harry sneered at it, reminded of Dudley.

The teen jumped off the couch before Marge ran at him, screaming in outrage.

"How _dare _you hurt my precious again!" she screamed. Harry pointed to where the dog was now lying on the carpet, all incident of injury forgotten.

"You're bloody fucking dog is fine, Marge," he said dully.

"Don't tell me Ripper's fine just after you have kicked him! And so soon after the last time you assaulted him," Marge screeched. Vernon looked angrier by the minute, and Harry figured the blow to his pride would be better than a repeat of last night.

"Marge, Marge, I'm so sorry. I was just so shocked that Ripper…uh….woke me up. I truly didn't mean to hurt him," Harry exclaimed, holding his hands out in case Marge came closer. Marge didn't look pleased, but the vein in her forehead wasn't quite as pronounced. The attempt at an apology didn't work nearly as well with Vernon, however.

"Rubbish piece of shit, you are! First you complain all day about doing a bit of heavy lifting, now you repay Marge and all she's done for you by beating her pet?" he shouted. Harry rolled his eyes and looked around the room for his coat. It was lying on top of his bag that he had packed up with all of his important paperwork and schoolwork. Unfortunately the bag and coat were in the corner of the room. _What was I thinking when I put it there? _Harry reprimanded himself, _Oh well, _he thought, backing into the corner and grabbing his coat and bag just as Vernon rushed him.

Harry ducked and spun out of the way, tossing his bag on the couch while he shrugged the jacket on as quickly as he could. Vernon aimed a clumsy fist at his stomach but Harry managed to deflect it when he pushed his right hand through the coat's sleeves. But then Marge was behind him and holding on to the half of the coat he hadn't managed to put on.

"Hold him there! I'll teach him a lesson in respect!" Vernon declared. Harry pulled in vain on his coat, realizing that Marge had every intention of holding him down while Vernon beat him. His heart pounded harder at that thought. Vernon came at him, grabbing the collar of his t shirt in a firm grip. Harry turned away from Vernon's raised fist and raised his arm over his head in a vain attempt to protect himself. Vernon's knuckles collided with his chest, instantly knocking the wind out of the petite teen. Gasping for air Harry slipped his arm back out of the jacket and left Marge holding only the windbreaker.

Clutching his stomach and keeping a wary eye on the increasingly angry Vernon, Harry put his bag on his shoulder and continued backing away from Vernon. When his back was to the door and he was facing both Vernon and Marge, Harry bolted. Marge grabbed his arm as soon as he had the door open but Harry yanked it away from her with strength fueled only by adrenaline. Still recovering from the hit to the chest he'd sustained, Harry stumbled down the hall and took the stairs down to the first floor six at a time. Vernon's angry yells faded quickly after Harry had hit the first floor and walked into the first floor hallway, trying to catch his breath. Another motel patron stuck his head outside his door and looked at Harry.

"What are you doing here? There's a sign outside that says you vagabond's can't stay here for the night!" he exclaimed. Harry sighed and leaned back on the wall.

"I'm not homeless. I live upstairs."

"Well then, get on up there," the man said. Harry glanced at the door leading to the stairwell and suppressed a yell of frustration.

"You're an asshole," he muttered, pushing himself away from the wall and walking down the hall for the door. The man shut his door with a snap and Harry flipped it off halfheartedly.

There was a nice heated anti room to the hallway which Harry settled down in, looking through the glass entrance doors at the snow that was falling from the sky. With his head settled on his bag Harry fell into a fitful sleep.

He was woken for the second time that morning by a wet boot nudging him. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light.

"Go on, get outta here," a man was saying. Harry looked up at him and pushed himself up with a groan. His entire body felt like it had been put through a blender, especially the arm that Marge had grabbed just before he had exited the room. "Come on, get up!" The man said once again. Harry put a hand on the wall for support and managed to stand up silently. The man, who wore a factory uniform and looked weary, gave him a quizzical look. "You okay, there?" Harry rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the man's false concern.

"Just fine, thanks."

"Well then, walk on out."

"I need to get to school, sir. Do you have any spare change for the bus?" The man gave him another look. "Oh come on, it's not like I can buy anything but a bus pass with a dollar," Harry reasoned. The man relented, reaching inside his coat pocket and pulling out a series of quarters, dimes, and nickels and handing them to Harry. The dancer pocketed the change and picked his bag up from the floor. The man held the door open for him and Harry took the hint, bracing himself for the cold and walking outside.

Snow was drifting down from the sky, but there was very little wind, which Harry was grateful for. Wrapping his arms around himself for as much warmth as possible, he put his head down and marched toward the main street, hoping to find a bus stop soon. It took him ten minutes of aimless wandering to find a bus stop, and even then it was another fifteen minutes before a bus came by. It wasn't going downtown as Harry had hoped, but it would end its route ten or so blocks away, and Harry figured it was better than nothing. Besides, his twenty-five minute wait in the freezing temperature had already left his feet and hands solidly numb.

The bus driver gave him a suspicious look when Harry boarded, but the dancer had been on the receiving end of many looks like that before and didn't let it faze him. Locating the seat nearest to the heater, Harry curled up with his knees held to his chest by his arms and his bag on the floor. Minutes later he fell asleep with his head resting against the fogged window.

He was woken for the third time that morning by the bus driver shaking his shoulder. Harry moved away from him as quickly as possible, his sore muscles and bruises flaring to life again.

"End of route, son, time to get off," the bus driver said, Harry looked at the digital clock that displayed at the front of the bus. Five forty-five in the morning. The dancer nodded and carefully stood up, supporting himself by gripping the pole near his seat. He bent down and grabbed his bag, carefully setting it on his shoulder. "You're not lookin' too good," the bus driver commented. Harry shrugged.

"Bad night."

"You have a coat or anything?" Harry shook his head.

"No. I'm almost at my school, though, so I'll be fine," he said, trying to see through the foggy windows to determine if the weather had changed.

"Snowin' pretty bad out there by now," the drive commented. Harry gave him a nod.

"Thanks, man. Have a good one," he said, preferring to get his walk to Hogwarts over with as soon as possible.

The driver had been right: the snow now came down in thick sheets, sticking to Harry's eyelashes and dripping down his face and arms as it melted. He moved as quickly as he could down the nearly empty side-walk, soaking his shoes within the first minute of walking. Harry tried not to think of how horrible he looked or how he was going to explain this to whoever was at the school this early in the morning.

Shivering and almost numb, Harry climbed the steps to the Fifth Avenue School of the Arts on weak and exhausted legs. Desperate to get inside the warm building, Harry reached out with nearly unresponsive arms only to find that the doors were still locked. Either the headmaster was not showing up at six like Snape said he normally did or he had locked the door behind him. Harry slid down the glass door, collapsing in a shivering and wet heap of bones on the landing. The overhang that covered the landing protected him from the snow and the wind, but the freezing air was sucking the last of the remaining warmth from his body.

It became hard to focus on anything but the cold that was painfully creeping through his body. It hurt to move his joints, but desperate to stay awake and avoid freezing to death, Harry forced himself to stand. Arms wrapped around his torso Harry paced the balcony, back and forth, back and forth. It felt like he was walking on needles, but even the sensation of pain was better than no sensation at all.

He had no idea how long he was able to keep pacing. It felt like hours or days. Eventually Harry tripped, no longer possessing balancing reflexes. His shoulder hit the ground and Harry barely registered the pain that he knew should have been excruciating. Fighting the blackness that had been approaching for some time now, Harry crawled over to his bag, trying to manipulate it onto his lap only to find he had no strength to do so. Snippets of panic flashed in his mind, but like all else the sensation was dulled by the cold. Harry recognized his brain imagining death, but couldn't bring up any emotional connection to it.

* * *

Thanks so very much for your patience. I really appreciate that you haven't given up on me!

-Wykkyd


	20. ReConnecting

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or related characters and plotlines.

**A/N: **not much to say except I'm very late but back all the same. I don't even know if anyone's reading this anymore! If anyone is, I sincerely apologize, for this last delay and for any future ones. It's really hard for me to keep writing this story when I'm really just re-writing it after my computer crashed last year. Nevertheless, I found some time recently to work on it.

I also wanted to thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter, some of them old, some of them recent. The more recent reviews were the ones to inspire me to keep writing. I really appreciate your support.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Re-Connecting**

Severus cursed the storm that whirled around him as he shut the door to his car and locked it. Putting his head down he marched determinedly through the snow around to the front of the building, extracting the keys to the school from his winter coat and then stripping off his gloves to he could unlock the door without trouble.

Upon turning around the corner of the school, Severus looked up, feeling his heart jump when he noticed a body lying pressed against the glass doors to the entrance. Suppressing his panic, Severus ran up the stairs and crouched down near the body. He was horrified to see the child had no coat on, only clad in a thin t-shirt and jeans that were near soaked through. He reached to turn the child's face towards him, sighing when he recognized the emaciated, nearly blue, and horribly bruised face of Harry Potter. Hesitantly, and slightly fearful of confirmation, Severus pressed his bare fingertips against Harry's throat. There was no warmth radiating from the boy whatsoever, and the pulse was barely present, so faint that at first Severus didn't even feel it. Encouraged by that small sign of life, Severus hurried to unlock the door and then picked Harry up, walking as quickly as possible into the school and to the teacher's lounge on the first floor. Severus shouldered his way through the door, glad to see that the night clean man had left a fire going in the lounge, as he was instructed to do in the winter.

Severus set Harry down on the couch and removed his own winter coat before taking another look at the boy. His pale face made a bruise on his jaw and the definition in his cheekbones stand out uncomfortably. Raking a hand through his hair and trying to steady his adrenaline-accelerated breathing, Severus crouched down near the dancer and stripped him of his soaked t shirt and jeans, leaving his boxers on only to respect privacy.

Seeing Harry nearly naked confirmed Severus' suspicions. There was a deep bruise on Harry's chest, and many more littered his ribs, stomach, and hips. One of Harry's upper arms was circled with a red mark that was probably prevented from bruising only because of his severe exposure that morning. The boy's temple was severely bruised, as was his right cheekbone. But that was all for later examination. Pulling a blanket off the coffee table, Severus sat down on the couch and pulled Harry up to his chest, wrapping the blanket around both of them.

Harry's body was freezing, and what worried Severus is that the young boy wasn't even shivering. If he continued to be still for another fifteen minutes Severus would be forced to drive him to the emergency room.

Time passed slowly. Severus would check Harry's pulse every two minutes, keeping careful track of the heart beats per minute. For the first five minutes there was no increase, but for the next five minutes Severus was relieved to find that Harry's heart was speeding up its pumping of blood. Twelve minutes after Severus had started keeping track of time Harry's body shuddered and his hands began twitching.

His eyes on Harry's face, waiting for boy's eyes to twitch or show some sign of consciousness, Severus rubbed his hands up and down Harry's back through the blanket, hoping to stimulate bloodflow as much as possible. Ten minutes later Harry's twitching had turned to almost violent shivering. Severus was able to feel the boy's body temperature increasing incrementally.

After almost forty minutes of holding him, Severus glanced back at Harry's face to find his eyes open and glancing around the room fearfully.

"You're just fine, Potter," Severus said softly, not wanting to startle the teen. Harry jumped anyway, wincing when the movement caused him apparent pain.

"Professor? Where am I?" Harry asked through his chattering teeth.

"In the teachers' lounge at the Fifth Ave School of the Arts. I found you outside the door around six ten this morning," Severus explained, continuing to rub Harry's back.

"Okay," Harry whispered, his eyes drifting closed. Severus tapped his back.

"Try and stay awake, Potter. This is very important," Severus urged, reluctant to let his student fall asleep when he didn't know if Harry was out of danger or not. The dancer's eye flickered open again.

"Everything hurts," Harry whispered. Severus put a hand on his forehead. It was still cold to the touch, but definitely warmer than it had been half an hour ago.

"I would imagine so, Potter."

"No, like, it's _burning,_" Harry whimpered. Severus gently lifted the dancer's shoulders off his chest so he could get off the couch. Harry was warm enough to produce his own body heat, and Severus didn't want him to become uncomfortable with their proximity.

"Your body is warming up and it's getting used to the heat. What else hurts?" Severus asked, wrapping the blanket more firmly around the boy and going to put another piece of wood on the fire.

"My face, I guess, and my head. Mostly my chest and ribs." Severus stood up and walked over the Harry.

"I'm going to check your head, Potter. Is that all right?" he asked. Harry gave a small nod, and Severus placed his hands on Harry's scalp. Even though Harry had been able to prepare for the touch, he still flinched when his professor's long fingers began probing his head. He glanced at Snape. "I am checking for bumps. I just want to make sure you don't have a concussion."

"I don't. It's probably gone by now," Harry murmured, curling deeper into the blanket.

"What was that?" Severus asked sharply.

"Head hurt worse yesterday, so I dunno. It's probably better now," Harry said, his eyes closing. Severus sighed. He had been well aware that Harry had not come to school yesterday. Draco had interrogated him over lunch period, and the rest of Harry's little posse had asked about the boy in their respective chemistry classes.

"Eyes open, Potter," Severus commanded.

"Please. I'm so tired, I haven't slept very well for days," Harry begged. By the dark rings around his eyes that could almost be mistaken for bruises, Severus believed him.

"Just for a few more minutes. Potter, Harry, where were you yesterday?" Severus asked slowly. The cold had clearly dulled Harry's usually very quick mind, and Severus had no qualms using this to his advantage.

"At the apartment."

"Why didn't you come to school?"

"I didn't wake up."

"What do you mean?"

"I tried to wake up, but it hurt too bad and then I just fell back asleep."

"What hurt?"

"Everything." Severus ran a hand through his hair, trying to puzzle out Harry's story.

"Did you get hurt yesterday?" Harry paused.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"My chest and my arm."

"And your face?"

"That was the night before," Harry muttered, rolling over onto his side with a hiss.

"Who hurt you?" Severus asked. Harry didn't reply, and Severus repeated his question.

"No one."

"You expect me to believe you did this to yourself?"

"No."

"Harry, I think you know that I already know who hurt you," Severus mentioned. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can we talk about this later? I'm tired," he whispered. Severus nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the small boy. Harry had been awake for just over twenty minutes, and Severus was satisfied enough with his external temperature to let him go back to sleep.

"Later, then. Sleep for now, I will wake you at lunch. Until then I will make sure there is always someone in the room with you in case you need anything," Severus said, partly thinking aloud. Harry's eyes snapped open.

"No. I'll be fine. No one needs to watch me," he protested. Severus shook his head.

"Absolutely not. Madame Poppy will be in as soon as she arrives to give you a checkup. Then I suppose Sirius Black will spend the day with you. You remember Black, yes?"

"Yeah. He's all right," Harry said.

"Hmmm. I left your bag outside in my hurry to bring you inside. I will leave it on that chair for you when you wake," Severus said, waving to a wooden chair near a small table in the corner of the room. "Do you require anything before I go to my classroom?" Harry shook his head slightly.

"Just….thanks, Professor. I'm sorry about all this." Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't let it happen again. Next time I may not decide to come early," he snapped. Harry flinched and mumbled something into the pillow. Severus decided not to press the issue. "Sleep, Potter. I will see you at lunch. Do not leave that couch unless someone is in the room to assist you. There is a bathroom connected to this room."

"Okay. Thanks again," Harry whispered, clearly falling asleep. Severus watched the boy for a few minutes, taking in the hideously bruised face that looked otherwise innocent. He and Harry would be having a long conversation come lunch.

…

Harry jolted awake, the fragments of his dream already fleeing his mind as he sat up in panic, trying to calm his rapid breathing.

"Oh shit," he moaned, as the physical sensation of bruises and torn muscles raced through him. Gently he let himself back down until he was lying on the couch once more, taking deep breaths to manage the pain.

Obviously, moving the entire contents of Vernon's apartment yesterday had not done his already injured body any favors, and it seemed his hypothermic experience last night hadn't helped matters either. Across the room someone cleared their throat, and Harry glanced sharply in that direction.

Sirius Black was sitting at the small table in the corner, flipping through a pile of papers. After a moment he set his pen down and glanced over at Harry. His lips turned up when he noticed Harry was awake.

"Hey there, kiddo. How are you feeling?" he asked in a warm voice. Harry nodded.

"Just fine."

"No, really. How are you feeling?" Sirius asked again, going back to flipping through his papers. Harry grunted.

"I'm really sore and bruised and I probably feel as good as I look. Better?" he asked. Sirius smiled.

"Much better," he said, pushing himself up from the table. "Snape left me this to give to you," he said, grabbing a glass of water that had been on the other side of the table and walking over to the couch, where he held the glass out to Harry. The dancer snaked a hand out from beneath the blankets and grabbed the water, propping himself up to take a sip. Sirius held out a small orange pill. "Pain killer. Snape figured you'd need it," he explained. Harry gratefully swallowed the pill and lay back down on the couch. Sirius took a seat in the armchair positioned facing the couch. "Do you have any questions? Either for me or for Snape?" he began.

"Where is Snape?" Harry asked.

"Teaching. It's almost lunch, though, so he should be down in about twenty minutes." Harry nodded. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Um…I don't think so. Sorry for missing my appointment yesterday," Harry whispered. Sirius shrugged.

"No worries. Poppy wants us to get it over with today, though. I doubt Snape or Poppy will let you go back to your dance classes, so why don't we meet for the last period of the day?" he suggested. Harry nodded.

"I guess that would work. As long as I can get to work on time," he said. Sirius nodded.

"Of course." Harry glanced at Sirius and tried to relax. He could tell the man had questions for him, but assumed that Sirius was going to wait until their meeting at the end of the day. Snape, on the other hand, wasn't going to be so patient. Harry blushed in embarrassment when he recalled fuzzy memories of his chemistry professor holding him to keep him warm. He would never live it down. Sirius put his hands in his pockets and looked the boy lying on the couch over. Harry was pale and thin, so much that he looked ill. His black hair and green eyes stood out oddly against the paleness of his face. Harry's jaw was bruised, as well as his cheek, and Sirius could make out several other red marks on his neck, trailing down underneath the loose collar of his t shirt. It was clear that Harry didn't live in the best neighborhood of the city, and Sirius figured the bruises could be accredited to either gangs or fights, or abuse. Sirius didn't like either of the options.

"I'll see you in a few hours, Harry. Snape'll be in with some lunch for you soon," Sirius said. Harry nodded.

"Thanks, Mr. Black."

"Call me Sirius." Harry nodded, watching the dark-haired man leave the room with perpetually wary eyes.

Before Harry had time to fully process the informal meeting with Mr. Black—Sirius, Harry reminded himself—the door to the lounge was flung open again and Snape walked through.

"How are you?" he demanded.

"Just fine." Snape raised an eyebrow. "Come on, I just went through this with Black," Harry said dully. Snape didn't look as if he cared, and Harry sighed, too weary to be rebellious. "My head hurts, my ribs hurt, and my arm hurts. And I'm still cold," he added. Snape looked slightly more satisfied.

"Lovely," he drawled. "I trust you can still walk? I have some questions for you and I think we would both be more comfortable in my office. This lounge is, of course, open to all teachers," Snape explained. Harry nodded and slowly pushed himself up in a sitting position. The arm Marge had grabbed was suffering some sort of injury that made it extremely uncomfortable to bear weight, and even the slight force of gravity upset his ribs. Harry couldn't prevent his face from giving away his condition. "Let me assist you, Potter. No need further injuring yourself. Poppy would have my head for it anyway," he mumbled the last comment under his breath, but Harry heard him. He liked Snape's sense of humor. The chemistry teacher stepped closer to Harry and supported him as the boy slowly stood. Harry was clearly good at disguising pain, but the shudders and twitches, let alone the heavy breathing, made it all too clear that standing was excruciating. Snape felt a twinge of pity alongside respect for the boy. Harry took a step forward, biting his lip to keep from crying out. "Lean on my arm," Snape said. Positioning himself to the right of Harry, he wrapped his left arm around the small teen's back and offered his right forearm for Harry to lean on.

It took fifteen minutes to get Harry up to his office through the crowds of students in the halls. By the end of the lunch the whole school would know Harry Potter—ballet protégé—was seriously injured and being cared for by Snape. The chemist pinched the bridge of his nose, imagining Draco's reaction when he heard from one of Potter's posse. But that was to be dealt with later. For now, Potter was sweating and pale-face in his desk chair, looking about ready to pass out. Severus sat down in the desk he normally made his students sit in, making sure that he had locked the door to his office before being seated.

"There is a glass of water on the desk, Potter. Drink," Snape insisted. Harry reached out a shaky hand and brought the glass to his lips, taking small obedient sips. "My first priority," Severus noticed the tension in Harry's neck and back had returned, "is to make sure you are healed properly. You need to be examined by Poppy," the tension increased and Harry began shaking again, diverting his eyes to his lap. Snape continued as if he had not noticed. "You also need to eat a decent meal or ten and get some proper nutrients in you. A good bit of sleep will do you some good as well. My second priority is to see that you never stay at your Uncle's house again." Harry appeared so tense Severus entertained the possibility of him shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. "So it appears we must arrange a place for you to stay. Tonight you will stay here with either myself, Black, or Poppy. Then we'll have to see about possible long-term alternatives."

Harry looked at his hands. They were shaking. Snape made it seem so easy, so matter-of-fact. Like he could just pick up and leave Vernon's house. Like he could just pack up his whole life in Thirteenth, or Eleventh, district and forget about it. Harry distantly recognized that Snape knew nor understood none of the details: he didn't know about Vernon or Marge beyond whatever he was guessing, he didn't know about Fred and George, he didn't know about Tom Riddle and Dean. He didn't know about Dudley or Petunia, about Vernon's alcohol, about the move, about anything. But instead of being angry at Snape for speaking without knowing what he was talking about, Harry felt nothing. Nothing but pain and cold. He supposed Snape's 'long-term solution' would be foster care. Harry knew that most foster parents were worse than the original relatives. But he didn't care. He was going to have to show Madam Pomfrey his injuries. Normally he would yell and lash out and refuse. Now he felt nothing. He didn't care. He just wanted…Harry sighed. He didn't know what he wanted.

"You don't have to go to the trouble. I can go back to my Uncle's. It's not a big deal." If Harry had looked up he would have seen Snape grip the arms of the chair he was sitting in with bruising force.

"You will not return there."

"Look, it's fine. It's not like he's going to kill me," Harry said dully. Snape inhaled. Then exhaled. Then inhaled again.

"Potter. Harry." He exhaled. "I will not press you for details, that's Black's job, but it is painfully obvious to me that your Uncle beats you. And I will not allow you to return to such a home where you may end up beaten unconscious, as was what occurred yesterday, I presume," Snape explained, as if explaining to a small child. Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Really, s'not a big deal," he professed, picking at his nails. Snape stood, but when he saw Harry flinch away in surprise he immediately sat down.

"This is not up for discussion. You will not return to your Uncle's. Not tonight, not ever. Some people do not tolerate the abuse of children."

"'M not a child," Harry mumbled halfheartedly. Snape chose not to respond. He leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees.

"Harry, look at me," he commanded, being sure to keep his voice soft. Harry kept his eyes down. "Look at me, please." The tiniest flick of the dancer's pupils obeyed his command. "You are not the first person to come to this school from an abusive family in the upper districts. You are not alone," he said. "We will help you." Snape paused before adding, "_I _will help you." Harry's eyes flicked back to his lap just as someone began pounding on the office door. Harry flinched at the sudden noise. "Undoubtedly that is my ridiculous godson," he mumbled. Snape thought he caught a smile light across Harry's face for a moment.

"Sev? Harry? Is Harry in there?" Draco's muffled voice carried through the door. Snape glanced at Harry, who hadn't moved.

"Shall I let him in?" he asked. Harry glanced up in surprise, then shrugged. "That is not a proper answer," the chemistry professor pointed out.

"Sure, let him in, I guess," Harry whispered. Snape rose from his chair and unlocked the office door, allowing Draco to enter. The blond glanced around until his eyes landed on Harry. Snape realized he hadn't seen Draco look so dumbfounded in years.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harry. What in hell happened to you?" he whispered. Harry shrugged, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Are you okay?" Draco looked to Snape for confirmation when he realized Harry had little intention of answering.

"He's bruised, possibly a cracked rib or two. But he'll be fine in a week or so," Snape answered briskly. "I have grading to do, Draco, I assume you can keep Mr. Potter company until I return at the end of lunch?" Draco nodded, and Snape gave a look to Harry that hopefully conveyed that the boy was not to leave that room.

When the boys were alone Draco moved around the desk and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He ignored the flinch and the resulting hiss of pain.

"Harry?" he asked softly. Harry looked up and Draco couldn't recognize the emotion in his eyes. "What happened?" It was a long time before Harry responded.

"I don't know. Fight, I guess. I lost."

"And yesterday? You missed school."

"I was hurt." Draco tilted Harry's head up and then slid his fingers over Harry's cheek, up his temple, and over the bruise on his forehead.

"Are you staying at the school tonight?" Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll come by in the evening then. I have to get to class and unpack my violin, so I better take off. When Snape comes back tell him I just left or he'll kill me. Can I come see you in between classes?" Harry shrugged.

"I think I'm bouncing between Pomfrey and Sirius and Snape for the rest of the day. If you can track me down I wouldn't mind seeing a friendly face," he said. Draco cracked a smile.

"I'll do my best," Draco said with a wink. Harry looked down, a glum expression on his face. Draco stepped closer and Harry looked up again. "Hey, I'll see you soon. I promise." With a small breath Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry's before turning and walking out of the room. Harry looked after him in shock.

…

Harry's day went by in a blur of Pomfrey, Sirius, and Snape, with brief respites with Draco and sometimes one of his other friends. It was arranged that he would stay at Hogwarts with Snape or Sirius for supervision until he was well enough to move around comfortably, when he would be transferred to one of the professors' homes. Dance classes were obviously out of the question. He had no idea when he would be able to see Fred or George or Ron again. Missing Dean was floating around in the back of his mind. Vernon and Marge. What about them? What about his things?

Snape and Pomfrey and Dumbledore had a lot of whispered conversations that he couldn't hear, and Sirius asked him a lot of questions about typical therapist things, but Harry wasn't sure Sirius wasn't asking them just to be nice. _What are your hobbies? How long have you been dancing? What style of dance is your favorite? Why? Do you like Hogwarts? Tell me about your old school. Do you still have friends there? What is he like? Oh? You seem fond of him._

He was eventually settled in to a room that connected to Pomfrey's office. There was a bed and a table in it; apparently it was used for students who were exhausted or were seriously injured at the school. Harry was given his school books and most of his teachers came in to visit him before they left for the night to give him assignments and homework. Harry put it all aside in favor of falling asleep. He vaguely remembered Draco kissing him goodnight and then being shooed out of the room by Snape.

…

Snape looked up when the door to his office swung open. Sirius Black entered the room holding a file folder in his teeth and tying his long hair back with a stretchy band. Snape glared.

"Can I help you?" he drawled. Sirius gave him a charming smile.

"Figured we should talk Harry Potter before I split for the night," he said, after taking the folder out of his mouth.

"Oh?" Severus hummed, marking the lab report he had been looking over and grabbing a new one to grade.

"Dumbledore expects one of us to take him, you know," Sirius mentioned. Severus looked up sharply.

"Excuse me? That's insane. He can't force adoption on us," he snapped.

"It was heavily hinted to me. The old man seems to think you'd make a good guardian. And that's all you would be. Nothing has been said about official adoption."

"Doesn't the boy have any friends who can deal with this?" Sirius shook his head.

"None that have competent families, from what I can tell." Severus snorted. "His only real friends that aren't orphans or living with single parents are the Weasley brothers. Fred, George—twins—and Ron. Molly and Arthur Weasley are the parents. But they also have two more boys and a girl in the family." Severus nodded.

"I have no intention of taking care of a child. Especially not _that_ one," he growled. Sirius looked at him.

"What do mean 'not that one?'" the counselor asked. Severus gave him a hard look and set his lab report aside.

"Black, Harry Potter is a nice boy, I'm sure. But his parents are dead, he's been abused most of his life by a sadistic uncle—"

"And an aunt, apparently," Sirius interrupted.

"Sure. He's lived in Thirteenth most of his life, has serious gang affiliation, has a petty criminal record that can barely be counted on both hands, has very few friends, has shown to be mildly deviant at school, has no notion of a real authority figure, and now he is unable to do the one thing that he truly enjoys: dancing. Don't sugar coat this. Harry Potter is one fucked up kid and it's going to take a lot to wring any of that shit out of him," Severus snapped angrily. Sirius chewed his lip.

"Severus, the more you talk about this kid the more you seem like the perfect candidate for a guardian, in all honesty. The kid sounds a lot like you, actually." Sirius caught the glare that Severus sent his way and chose to ignore it. Most people probably would have fled the room if the chemist had looked at them like that.

"Don't talk about things that you know nothing of," Snape snarled in a dangerous voice. Sirius inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I can't take Harry for a lot of reasons," Sirius continued as if he hadn't sensed Snape's fury. "The only other options are putting this…" he flipped through Harry's file, "Vernon Dursley character into a rehab program and some parenting class, or foster care. I don't think the situation can be mended by sending Dursley to school, but I also think that foster care is a bad idea, at least right now. Maybe after the school year ends and Harry would have the summer to get used to a new family, but not now." Severus was loath to admit that Sirius' words were logical, for once. Of course, he said nothing of the sort. But something certainly did have to be done about Harry Potter. Severus sighed.

He had no desire to re-connect with his past any more than Harry had to confront his.

* * *

Review if you enjoyed it! That also lets me know if people are still even following this.

The Wykkyd


	21. Reckless

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, associated characters, or a magical horse. Just saying.

A/N: It goes without saying that this was a very delayed chapter. I'm so sorry that my life is too crazy for regular updates, but I appreciate each one of you who has the patience to keep reading and providing me with comments. It's really nice of you all.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Reckless**

Harry woke with a start on Saturday morning. The bell had just rung, and even through the door to his small room and then the door to Pomfrey's office he could hear students rushing through the halls. Tendrils of music floated to his ears—bits of vocals, strings, and other instruments people were playing in the halls on their way to classes. Rhythmic steps of dancers practicing in the hall also reached his ears.

Harry was surprised he hadn't been woken up, but like any teenaged boy he wasn't going to complain about being allowed to sleep in. Once awake, though, he had no desire to return to sleep. He took a moment to check himself over. His ribs and arms felt far better than they had before, although the sharp twinges of pain that still raced through him when he moved meant he wouldn't be dancing for a while.

His injuries were the last of Harry's concerns, though. They had been constants in his life until that point; he was used to the painful twinges and burning of torn muscles. He was used to the bruises and cuts. But things seemed to be changing, and as he lay in bed, Harry was filled with an overwhelming nervousness about his future.

First in his mind was Draco. Who had kissed him yesterday. He wasn't going to lie to himself and pretend he didn't think Draco was attractive: the boy was as sexy as they come. But Draco was also far above his station, and while the older boy had been a loyal friend up until now, Harry didn't want to end up as his plaything come year-end. Creeping thoughts of paranoia sank into his brain for several minutes until Harry shook his head lightly. No. Draco wouldn't do that. And even if he would, the blond would graduate in the spring and Harry would never see him again so it wouldn't be all that crushing.

So there was Draco, and then there was George. Harry knew that he loved George, but it wasn't the love of a passionate lover, it was that of a respectful brother. And if he loved George like a brother, why did he feel so attracted to him? George and him weren't really a 'thing,' anyway. Maybe they had been at one point, but Harry felt like he spent so little time with the redhead, and now, so little time in Thirteenth district at all, that their relationship would have to fade back to a platonic brotherly connection. George was a shoulder to cry on, but Harry realized with some guilt that if he never kissed the redhead again he wouldn't be devastated. He would barely even miss that part of his connection with George.

Harry groaned and sat up with only a few winces of pain. He needed to stop thinking about Draco and George, and instead go find Pomfrey, like he was supposed to upon waking up.

Pomfrey fussed over him for a short period of time, and then sent him off to the cafeteria to find breakfast. Harry obeyed, and spent the next fifteen minutes eating the best breakfast he had ever eaten in his life while listening to the student string quartet practicing in the corner of the cafeteria. Then he made his way back to the room in Pomfrey's office and packed up his backpack and returned to Pomfrey for further instruction. She was busy with a dancer with a twisted ankle; a sophomore who Harry recognized from his modern class. He gave a small smile to the kid and then looked back to Pomfrey with a raised eyebrow. Pomfrey only told him to get to his next class, as it wasn't a dance class. Harry glanced at the clock in the office and realized it was time for chemistry. _Go figure._

To everyone's surprise, Snape didn't yell at him or give him detention for showing up to the class half an hour late. He only nodded towards the back of the room where there was an empty seat. Harry went silently, avoiding everyone's eyes even though Neville tried painfully hard to catch his attention. Harry sat down and took a notebook out of his backpack, along with a pencil. His chemistry textbook was still at Vernon's motel room. Throughout the class Harry sat perfectly still, save the scribbling of his hand as he took notes. Snape found himself snapping at more than one student who turned around one too many times to stare at the mysterious Harry Potter.

As Snape released his class he, as expected, asked Harry to stay behind for a moment. Neville had to be all but shoved out the door by other students. Harry stayed immobile in his chair until Snape asked him to come to the front of the room.

"I trust you're feeling better?" the chemist asked. Harry nodded. "I've arranged to bring you to your uncle's…motel room after classes today." Harry's head snapped up.

"You talked to my uncle?"

"No, the owner of the motel. I made him aware of the serious nature of the situation," Snape said vaguely. Harry didn't want to know if he was leaving anything else out. He wasn't the nicest of people when angry; Harry knew that from experience.

"Should I…will I be staying there?" Harry asked. He was resigned to the answer. It was too much to hope that Snape could magically whisk him away from Vernon. Snape looked at him.

"Why in hell would you think that?" Snape asked. Harry took a step back.

"Um…because…" Snape stormed back to his desk.

"Of course I'm not _leaving _you there. Jesus, I'm not inhuman," he said, his voice only a few decibels below a yell. Harry took a few more steps towards the door. "Don't even think about leaving this room until you're excused." Harry froze. Snape sighed and attempted to regain his temper. "I only intend for you to get your belongings. All of them. You will be staying one more night here and then by that time we'll know whether or not you're staying with Black or….me." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You? Sir?"

"It's a temporary solution, of course. The headmaster is looking into more long term solutions, but we all thought it would be best if you weren't admitted to foster care or adoption programs in the middle of the school year." Snape noticed the fear that flashed across Harry's face and realized that Harry would never allow himself to be thrown into that system. A hurdle that would have to be dealt with later, he supposed.

Harry blanched, his heart dropping into his stomach when Snape mentioned foster care. Those families could be worse than Vernon, he knew. In fact, the only family that takes on a street rat from Thirteenth is one who wants a household slave or worse, a sex toy. Harry had heard the stories. If it came to foster care or adoption he would rather chance it with Vernon. At least Vernon didn't rape him.

Snape took a step towards Harry and reached a hand out. Large green eyes locked onto the hand as it moved closer, until it finally rested on his shoulder. Harry looked back up into Snape's eyes before averting his gaze. _Snape's eyes are black, _he realized.

"Mr. Potter. Harry. The Headmaster would not put you in a home in which you would be further abused. He cares about his students." Harry couldn't help but snort. _Yeah right. There's over two hundred of them. _Snape knelt down. "Look at me, Harry. Albus helped me a long time ago, just like he is trying to help you. He is a good man, and you can trust him. You can trust me," he said seriously. Harry had to look away when his eyes became watery. The words weren't said tenderly, but they still brought a wave of wistful emotion on. No adult had ever said anything like that to him. Snape gave him a pat on the shoulder and lightly pushed him away. "Get to class, Mr. Potter," he ordered in the familiar brisk voice. Harry gave him a smile and opened his mouth to say something, but turned around and left the room when he couldn't find the words. The chemistry professor watched him leave, sighing as he noticed the boy's shoulder blades moving underneath the thin t-shirt. He needed better clothes and more food.

…

Severus looked up from his computer when Sirius Black threw the door to his personal office open. He sighed.

"Black, you barging into my quarters is becoming uncomfortably familiar. What do you want this time?"

"Harry's gone. Can't find him anywhere," Sirius gave him a look that Severus didn't understand.

"Did you talk to his friends? Draco?"

"No idea where Draco is either. Maybe they're off making out in a broom closet?" the shrink asked hopefully. Severus glared. _They better not be. _

"I'll find him. Just get out of my office," Severus said sharply, staring Sirius down until he shrugged and left. Severus pulled his cell phone out of the top drawer of his desk and dialed Draco's number. After two rings the teen answered.

"_Hey Sev."_

"Please tell me you know where Potter is," Severus said in his driest voice.

"_Oh shit, I totally forget to tell you. He needed a ride to work because he didn't call his boss yesterday when he didn't show. Seemed a little panicky."_

"Was he planning on working the full shift?"

"_No, he just wanted to explain the situation—er—most of it, to his boss. I'll turn around and pick him up. He'll be back at the school in half an hour I'd guess."_

"Don't bother. I'll pick him up. He's supposed to get his things from his Uncle's tonight."

"_Uh….is he not living there anymore?"_

"Obviously not, don't be stupid, Draco. Where does Potter work?"

"_Regulus' place." _Severus was surprised. Why would Harry be working at the dance shop? _"Oh, and Sev, why don't you and Harry come by for dinner tonight? Lucius is home. I know he wants to see you." _

"I'll see how much progress Potter and I make. What time is dinner?"

"_Eight."_

"If we're not there by then you know we won't be attending."

"'_Kay, Sev. See ya." _Severus hung up and saved the lab report he had been drafting, standing up to grab his coat and keys.

…

Harry looked like a dear caught in the headlights when he noticed Severus looming in the doorway of the shop. Regulus just glanced at the man and shrugged, turning his attention back to Harry. Severus wasn't able to hear the words his brother spoke to his student, but Harry's face became less panicky so he assumed it wasn't anything harsh. After another whispered word to Harry Regulus looked up to Severus.

"Well don't just stand there, Sev," he said dryly, although he was smiling. Harry was looking back and forth between the two black-haired men.

"I'm just here to collect Harry, actually," Severus said, nodding his head in Harry's direction.

"Really? I thought you might be picking up some ballet shoes," Regulus quipped sarcastically, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze as he walked around the front counter and walked the student dancer over to Severus.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I….forgot you were taking me…home…after class," Harry said in a halting speech that let Severus know Regulus was unfamiliar with Harry's home situation.

"Well he's free to go, Sev. Just came by to apologize for not letting me know where he was yesterday. I was worried." He looked at his friend with a meaningful gaze, which Severus returned. _Well, _Severus thought, _the man isn't stupid. _

"In that case we'll be on our way then," Severus said. Giving his brother a nod before walking briskly out of the shop. Harry waved to his boss and then turned and ran after his professor. When the two were seated in Severus' black sedan and speeding alongside the city traffic, Harry opened his mouth.

"Do you…um…know Regulus? It seemed—"

"He is Sirius Black's younger brother. Regulus and I are…friends, of a sort," Severus answered. Silence returned to the car, and Harry began nervously fidgeting with his hands, seeming to suddenly remember exactly where the two of them were going and for what purpose. The dancer began thinking of what belongings he would need to bring with him to wherever he would be staying now. He figured that he shouldn't bring too much—this wasn't his first rodeo. There was a young woman who worked at the church in Thirteenth that gave out winter clothes to homeless people during the fall. She had taken a liking to Harry when he was ten or so and offered to unofficially adopt him. It lasted for three days, although, Harry remembered, that was really because he ran away and not because she grew tired of him. But he was sure that she would have. Just like Severus or Sirius or whoever had to deal with him now would. He figured he would either be back with his uncle or out on the streets within three weeks. It wasn't a cheery thought.

Severus' sharp voice roused Harry from his thoughts. "Do you expect your Uncle will be home?" Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. But he might be out still. Job hunting…or whatever," Harry finished in a mumble, not believing his own words. Like hell Vernon was out job hunting. Severus nodded. "Turn left up there, at that light," Harry directed softly, assuming his professor wouldn't know where to go.

"Thank you, Potter," the man answered. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, save for Harry's quiet directions. The houses turned from individual condos with white or pale yellow siding to huge apartment complexes, to more run-down apartments and finally—and much too quickly—they pulled into the driveway of the motel.

"I don't have a key," Harry said, just remembering. Severus stepped out of the car and waved for Harry to do the same.

"Not necessary. The landlord will let us in," he said briskly, locking the car and waiting for Harry to start moving towards the motel. When Harry hesitated for several seconds, Severus gave him a hard stare. "Are you alright?" Harry's head snapped up, eyes flicking to Severus' and then away again.

"Sure," he said, shoving his hands in his jeans and walking towards the door. Severus rang the buzzer for the landlord and the man, a tall, too-thin and too-pale man, let them in, giving Severus a spare key to Vernon's room. Even though Harry was pretty sure Severus had never been in the building before, the man seemed to know exactly where he was going. Harry was content to follow, each step seeming to numb him. By the time they reached the door to Vernon's room Harry didn't think he could muster up an emotion if he opened the door to Vernon holding a shotgun to his head.

Without pause Severus knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer, and Harry didn't hear any shuffling behind the door. His teacher inserted the key, twisted, and pushed the door open, walking inside. Harry suppressed a shudder as he walked into the cold stale air of the living room, alcohol and cigarette smoke filling his nose. Severus didn't seem to notice, glancing around and taking in the various beer bottles and cans littering the room. Harry assumed he should feel embarrassed, but there just wasn't any feeling there to dredge up. Severus stopped in the middle of the room.

"Your Uncle is an alcoholic?" he asked. Harry looked around the room.

"It's not obvious?" he asked quietly. Severus gave him a sharp look.

"Answer me," he demanded. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded his head.

"Yeah. Yeah he is."

"Where do you sleep when you stay here?" Harry pointed to the couch. Severus noticed with a twinge of anger that there was no blanket on it for Harry to sleep under.

"Right. Gather your things, then. Do you mind if I look around?" Harry shrugged.

"Guess not. There isn't much to see, though," he mumbled, moving to the area between the couch and the wall where a few boxes were stacked. As Harry began rummaging through them, Severus moved to look around the motel room. The kitchen seemed that it wasn't used. There were a couple dirty dishes lying around, and the only food in the refrigerator was a package of hot dogs. There was a box of crackers on one of the counters. The only items that were frequent in the kitchen were bottles of alcohol, some empty, most not.

"What about your aunt?" Severus asked, kicking a Bud Light can out of his way. Harry looked up from the box he was selectively pulling things out of.

"My uncle's wife is dead, and his sister is, well, here right now."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Marge. She's a bitch," Harry snapped.

"Language," Severus muttered halfheartedly, a reflexive reprimand. Harry didn't apologize.

"She says she's helping Vernon to find a job. She bought us this place when we were evicted last week," Harry continued. Severus didn't interrupt, hoping Harry would continue. "I don't know what they're really doing together, though. Vernon's probably trying to pretend he isn't such an alcoholic around her, probably making it seem like he's trying to get a job. But I don't know. Marge would have to be pretty stupid to believe him, but then again, she is pretty stupid. I think she also has alcohol problems, but she's just better at hiding it."

"And does she also have…personal problems with you?" Severus asked. Harry gave a dry laugh, a quick exhale.

"You mean does she beat the shit out of me too?" Severus was silent, glad that Harry had finally admitted that his injuries were in fact the result of his Uncle's abuse. "I guess. I mean, she's rarely around me. But she's got a head for strict discipline. She also has this dog that bites me whenever I get too close. Ripper." Severus remembered the bite-mark on Harry's leg from several days ago.

"I see," he pause. "I'm sorry." Harry stopped packing his belongings into a trash bag, temporarily frozen by the unnecessary apology. It meant a lot to him, he realized, but he didn't reply, just kept packing. Severus let him work in silence and continued to look around the motel apartment. The bed was unmade. The second room was occupied by a woman's luggage and lots of dog equipment; Severus assumed this was the Aunt's room while she was here. There was one master bedroom, the bed unmade, the trash full of beer cans. Severus figured Harry's uncle could have provided a decent meal for the boy twice a day for a week with all the money he spent on alcohol. Not that Vernon appeared to have much care for the well-being of his charge. The window in Vernon's room overlooked the intersection of thirteenth and A Street. Severus absentmindedly thought of the old Death Eater territory that used Thirteenth as a border. But that was before they had taken over, or massacred, the remainder of the Vixens, which was one of two all-female gangs in the city. Severus couldn't help but glance back at Harry, who was still diligently looking through his meager boxes of belongings, remembering the flecks of black paint on his face weeks ago. That could potentially be a problem.

"Sir? I'm finished," Harry said from the other room. His voice was faint, but not weak. Severus turned from the window and strode into the living room, appraising the belongings Harry decided to bring with him. There was a box with what looked like some school supplies in it, a skateboard, and a bag that Severus assumed was full of clothes and other personal items.

"Let's go then. Would you object to dinner with the Malfoys?" Severus asked, ushering Harry out the door. He picked up Harry's box and glanced back into the room before slamming the door shut. He saw Harry tense at the mention of the Malfoys.

"I've never met his parents."

"They're…decent people." Severus knew he couldn't exactly call them 'nice.' Harry didn't relax, even until after they were driving away in Severus' car. He was acutely aware of Harry's discomfort.

"I guess I'll come," Harry whispered. Severus shook his head.

"If you are uncomfortable with the idea then I can drop you off at the school before I go." Harry took a deep breath.

"Um…that would be nice, actually," Harry replied. Severus was hesitant to leave Harry at the school by himself, but he figured Harry would wish to be alone. And Dumbledore was most likely there anyway. He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Lucius' cell.

"_Yes, Severus?"_

"Evening, Lucius. Just wanted to inform you that I'll be dropping by for dinner, Draco invited Mr. Potter and I."

"_And no Mr. Potter?"_

"No. He'll stay at the school tonight."

"_We're disappointed he won't be coming."_

"That doesn't change the fact that he's not. Another time, just not tonight."

"_Of course. It's understandable. Come over as soon as you like."_

"Just after I drop Mr. Potter off," Severus affirmed. Lucius hung up. Harry glanced up at him but then looked away, staring out the window. "I'll let you in to the school. I think it goes without saying that you are not to leave the building—you will be locked out—and that your wandering in the school shouldn't break any school privacy laws." A smile flickered on Harry's face.

"Yes Sir."

"Would you like me to stay with you?" Severus asked after a long pause. Harry looked up out of surprise.

"Um. Uh…no. Thank you. Though," his reply was halting, more full of surprise than certainty. Severus nodded. He would rather spend the evening conversing with Lucius than babysitting his student anyway.

Twenty minutes later Severus was driving towards the suburbs of the city to the Malfoys', having dropped Harry off and making sure that he was going to be all right. At least, he hoped he would be all right. He had doubled-checked that Dumbledore knew the boy would be at the school, and asked the headmaster to check in on Harry before he left the school for the night. The chemistry teacher ran his hand through his hair, sighing. If Harry ended up living with him it would be a disaster. Maybe.

Harry sat cross-legged on the school bed he would be sleeping in for the night. His bag of clothes and his box of random items were near him on the floor, the skateboard next to them. His backpack was next to him on the bed. They seemed out of place in the tidy room with clean sheets and blue and white striped wallpaper. He sighed, unsure of what to do with himself. After half an hour of skimming through textbooks to catch up on reading he had missed, Harry stood up and slipped out of the room, double-checking to make sure that the door to his room wasn't going to automatically lock behind him. The school was dark, only lit by the dim lights the janitors used to clean by. He knew the headmaster was in his office down the hall because Severus had told him, and he could see the glowing light of the fire through the window that looking in on the lounge.

The front desk was across the hall from his room, and Harry slipped around it, looking around for the phone. He found it in the corner and picked it up, listening to the dial tone. A note on the phone instructed him to dial 9 for an outside call. He pressed 9, then followed it with George's cell number. The twin answered on the third ring.

"_Who's this?"_

"It's me, George. I'm calling from the school phone."

"_Harry! Where the hell have you been? Fred get over here: it's Harry!" _Harry smiled. It was good to hear their voices.

"_Harry! Jesus we were worried about you," _Fred exclaimed. "_We went to the motel but you weren't there."_

"I know. It's a long story."

"_Well? We've got some important news for you, but what happened to you? Why are you at the school at eight o'clock on a Saturday?" _

"I don't know. Things happened really fast. I was locked out of the motel a couple nights ago, bummed my way to the school but it was locked and I almost froze to death waiting outside for an hour without any warm clothes. Professor Snape, the chem professor, found me. Wondered about all the bruises and stuff, figured out about my Uncle, insisted that I couldn't stay there anymore. So now I'm staying here tonight and then I'm going to live with Snape or this Black guy for a while until they can figure out what to do with me. I told them I won't go into the system, that I'd run away, but I don't know if they'll care." Fred and George were silent for a long time.

"_Shit, Harry. You have to live with that slimy git now? Can't you catch a break?"_

"It's better than the system, so for now I can't complain too much. What did you need to tell me?"

"_Oh yeah," _George said. "_Seamus got a note, we're assuming it's from Riddle. There wasn't anything on it but a time and an address. We think we're supposed to go to the address at eleven tonight." _Harry's heart raced.

"I want to come with you. Come and pick me up," he demanded.

"_No way! You're not getting yourself into another gang war. You've got a scholarship to one of the best schools in the city and you're not blowing it on this! Especially after everything that just happened. If you get arrested or whatever you have no one to come get you out and you know it. Even if one of your professors got you out your scholarship would be over and you'd end up going to a shit school and living with some foster bitch. You're not coming."_

"Cut the shit, George," Harry hissed. "Dean is my friend. And I'm the only one who actually knows any of the Death Eaters, if that is a note from them."

"_You have too much to lose. Six weeks ago and you would have agreed with me!"_

"Yeah, well that was before my uncle threw me out and I'm living with a school teacher who hates me half the time and the other half of the time is trying to psycho-analyze me. No one gives a shit about me at this school. And what chance do I have of getting out now? I'm looking at probably getting thrown out of this school anyway. Hell knows that if I end up in the system I'm running away, and I can't just be homeless and going to one of the best schools in the city!" Harry snapped.

"_Harry, calm down. You're not going to get thrown out, and you're not going to get carelessly thrown into the system. If Snape cares enough to let you live with him indefinitely, then he cares enough to not toss you into some awful family."_

"Come pick me up, George." Harry paused. "_Please._" There was a long silence on the other line.

"_Okay, Harry. Be on the front steps quarter till. If you're not there I'll assume you got smart and decided not to come," _George said. Harry rolled it eyes.

"See you. Bye, Fred." The twins hung up and Harry set the phone down, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to figure out what to do about the headmaster, and then he needed to find his set of lock picks so he could get back into the school when this whole thing was over. He knew going with them to get Dean was reckless, but he was in a reckless mood. And what did he have to lose? _Nothing, _Harry thought with a grimace.

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Nothing inspires me more than knowing what you guys thought of the chapter! Thanks for your patience and dedication to this story.

Wykkyd


	22. The Riddle

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, associated plotlines or characters.

**A/N: **Record! I updated before six months have passed. This is my last weekend of Christmas break, so I wanted to get this posted before I drop off the face of the earth again.

Also, there was a mistake in the last chapter that referred to Regulus as Severus' brother. They are friends, not brothers. I apologize for the confusion, and thanks to everyone who pointed the mistake out. Also, thanks a million to everyone who left such amazing reviews. I never had a story that received so many thoughtful reviews, full of interest and questions and curiosity. Like I've said before, those reviews are becoming my inspiration!

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**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**The Riddle**

Harry pulled his hoodie over his head and walked away from the school, wishing he had a warmer jacket. It was cold outside, and he distinctly remembered only two days ago he was about to die of hypothermia on the very steps he just walked down. He sighed and hoped that Fred and George and Seamus would hurry up. Five minutes later George's hand slipped out of his fathers' old car, waving hello. The car slowed and Harry leaned down to the driver's window. George was grinning at him, but the smile faded when he noticed the bruising on Harry's face in the dim lighting outside the school.

"Jesus, Harry. You should have called sooner," George whispered. Harry shrugged, flicking his eyes to Seamus in the passenger seat and Fred in the back seat. George gently grabbed his chin and pulled him closer. "I'm serious, Harry. I'm here for you. We're all here for you."

"Yeah well I'm fine, so let's get the show on the road," Harry snapped uncomfortably.

"_Are _you fine? If your face is any indicator, the rest of you is pretty fucked up and I don't want another liability," Seamus said. Harry noticed he seemed sober. That was good.

"What the hell do you mean another liability?" Harry exclaimed indignantly. George looked around and jerked his head towards the back seat.

"Get in car before you freeze and we're seen. We can talk on the way there." Harry did as he was told, noticing that his ribs were twinging pretty badly. Oh well.

"I mean that Dean is already going to be hurt enough. If you can't take a punch to the stomach without fucking hemorrhaging or something, then I'm not responsible for you," Seamus replied. Harry rolled his eyes and George punched Seamus' shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, George. I know what he means. I wouldn't be here if I felt that I couldn't do it. I don't think anything's going to happen anyway. They'll give us Dean, or what's left of him—"

"_Shut up! _Don't you fucking talk about him like that!" Seamus snapped, turning around to glare at Harry.

"Jesus, Seam. Sorry, but you have to be prepared for something like that," Fred said quietly. Seamus didn't reply, but turned back around and kept staring out the window. Fred leaned over to Harry.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Fred. God, I'm not lying or anything."

"It's not like it would be the first time. I'm serious, kiddo. Are you good to do this? We don't know what we're walking in to."

"_I _know what we're walking in to. It'll be fine, and I'll be fine. I've had three days to heal up anyway. I feel a lot better today than I did yesterday, and I felt better yesterday than I did the day before. It's going to be okay."

"And what about Dean?" Fred whispered, quietly enough that Seamus couldn't hear from the front seat. Harry saw George's eyes flick back to them in the rear-view mirror. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know about Dean. I've seen Tom kill people for less than the shit Dean tried to pull. If Dean dies Seamus becomes the Army head. Tom may deliver a dead body just to send a message to Seamus," Harry rationalized.

"What kind of message?"

"I don't know. Whatever 'here is the dead body of your best friend' says to a person," Harry hissed. Fred looked grim.

"I guess we'll see when we get there."

"And where is 'there'?" Harry asked aloud, looking to George.

"The big warehouse downtown. The one Riddle's had control over for months," George replied. "Now, do you want to tell us what the fuck happened to you?"

"I did. On the phone," Harry said. George and Fred glared at him and he sighed. "Okay fine. My uncle beat the shit out of me three…I think it was three…days ago and I got a concussion and missed school. That night, he was drunk and angry and I thought he might accidentally kill me if he knocked me out again, so I ran. Just booked it out of there. Took busses to the school, because one of the teachers said the headmaster got to the school at six in the morning most days. But I got there early and the headmaster came late. I had fallen asleep and someone found me on the steps and took me inside. That part's a little hazy. Then Snape, the chemistry professor, wanted to know why I looked like a three hundred and fifty pound man had beaten the fuck out of me, and I guess he figured it was because a three-hundred and fifty pound man _had _beaten the fuck out of me," Harry said quickly. The others were quiet.

"I think it's good, Harry. I think you need to get the hell away from your uncle and the hell away from Thirteenth district, even if it means saying goodbye to us," George whispered sadly.

"I'm not going to just walk away from you all. You're my friends. You understand me more than anyone ever will at that school," Harry said emphatically. George didn't look very reassured, and Harry felt guilt stab at him when Draco's face flashed into his mind. _Now isn't the time to think about this, _Harry reminded himself. The car was silent for the next ten minutes, until George pulled onto the street a block away from the warehouse. He turned the car off. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself for the rest of the night. It had been a long time since he had seen Tom Riddle face to face, and he wasn't looking forward to the reunion.

"Well, let's go. Fred, you know what to do with the car?" Seamus asked solemnly. Fred opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"Yeah I got it. I'll be there ten seconds after I get a call," he smiled and waved his sisters' cell phone in the air. Harry nodded in approval of their get-away plan. Fred slipped into the drivers' seat and Seamus looked at George and Harry.

"George, I need you to help with Dean if he can't want. I want to get the hell out of there as fast as we can. Harry, just…I don't know. Do what you need to," Seamus instructed. Harry nodded.

"One more thing, both of you give your guns to Fred," Harry said.

"Hell no!" Seamus hissed. Harry looked at him.

"I'm not kidding, and we don't have time to argue about this right now. We have three minutes to get our asses in there or Dean will be dead. We can't go in there with guns; they'll just take them from us. They'll feel threatened."

"Good," Seamus snapped. "They should be threatened." Harry rolled his eyes.

"We're three teenagers here to collect our friend because he did something _stupid _and shot himself in the foot for it. We wouldn't be threatening if we had _assault rifles_ with us," Harry said. "Now hand your guns to Fred." Seamus gave him a vicious glare but did as he was told; George handed over his gun as well. "Let's get going," Harry said. He shoved Seamus in the direction of the warehouse. George grabbed his arm. "George, I've told you a million times. I'm _fine. _You should be worrying about Dean instead of me."

"No, Harry it's not that," George said.

"Then what?" Harry asked, glancing at Seamus. George grabbed his head and came down quickly, slamming their lips together. He let go after a brief moment.

"It's nothing. Come on," George said, turning around and walking toward the building. Harry stayed still for a moment, wondering why George sounded so downtrodden. "Come _on!" _George repeated, turning around with a smile. Shaking his head in confusion, Harry jogged to catch up, trying not to wince when the motion sent stabs of pain shooting through his ribs. _This is stupid beyond belief. What in hell was I thinking? _Harry thought to himself.

The three of them walked into the warehouse at exactly eleven. It was pitch black.

"Don't move," Harry whispered, standing behind Seamus.

"We should have brought our guns," Seamus whispered back. Harry rolled his eyes. "Here goes, guys. RIDDLE!" he shouted into the darkness. His voice echoed for long enough that Harry figured the room was huge, and mostly empty. There was no reply to Seamus' answer and all Harry could hear was his friends' heavy breathing. "Riddle, get your fucking ass out here. Where the hell is Dean?" Seamus yelled again. Still no answer. "What the FUCK?" he screamed. Harry grabbed his arm.

"Shut up, Seam," he whispered in his ear. "Keep it together." Harry shouldered past Seamus, shaking off George's hand which tried to pull him back. Harry walked a few more paces into the room and stopped. He still couldn't see anything, even after his eyes had adjusted to the dark. So there were no windows in this room, or at least they had been covered up by something that would block out the streetlights. He couldn't hear anything, either. No shuffling, no guns being racked. Either the Death Eaters were completely ready for them, or there were only a few of them in the room. Or the room was empty.

"Tom," Harry said. He didn't speak loudly, but it was loud enough that he knew anyone else in the room could hear it. "It's me, Tom. We're here for Dean." Silence stretched out and Harry closed his eyes. Part of him wanted someone, anyone, to break the silence, but part of him prayed it wouldn't be Tom.

"Harry." No such luck. Harry bit his lip. "Who is with you?" The voice was unmistakably Riddle's. Smooth, tenor, sensual. Harry hated it.

"Seamus Finnigan and George Weasley," he replied honestly. He heard one of his friends shuffling behind him. Probably Seamus. He always had been bad at this stuff.

"I trust they can handle their friend. You can come talk with me," Tom replied. The voice was moving around the room now; Harry could hear the man's footsteps.

"He's my friend too. We're just here to get him," Harry answered, praying that Tom would let it go. That he wouldn't single him out.

"If you just wanted to get him, then why couldn't two people handle that? I would think your friends would understand if your new school priorities meant you couldn't attend this little meeting. Why did you insist on coming, Harry?" _Fuck, _Harry thought. He wanted to stamp his feet in frustration. Of course Tom would try and read into his coming, he would want to make something out of it, try and use it against him. But then, maybe he was right. Maybe something had made Harry want to come. _Yeah, recklessness, _he reminded himself bitterly.

"Dean is my friend, Tom, just as much as they are," Harry said, hoping his voice wasn't giving away his nervousness. Despite the cold, he could feel a bead of sweat running down his back. The darkness was getting on his nerves, as were the footsteps that were coming closer. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his knife, flipping it open silently, even though he knew that making any move on Tom would be a mistake. None the less, the familiar weight of it in his hand grounded him.

"But you didn't have to be here, Harry. How selfless of you. How loyal," Tom sneered. Harry started and bit his lip to prevent him from crying out as Tom put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. "You're going to keep quiet and walk with me, you hear?" he hissed in Harry's ear.

"What about Dean?" Harry whispered back.

"Your friends can get him when we're out of the way," Tom dismissed.

"Is he alive?" Harry asked.

"So many questions….But yes, he is alive. At the moment. You make a sound and I'll put a bullet through his skull, understand?" Harry swallowed.

"I understand," he said, closing his eyes. Tom laughed out loud, and pushed Harry further into the dark.

"Harry?" George called out. "Harry what the fuck is going on?" Tom slammed a hand over his mouth and dragged Harry farther.

"Don't answer them," he ordered. The teen obeyed.

"Harry? HARRY!" George yelled. Harry let Tom drag him out of the room. He was led through a doorway, or so he presumed, and then he heard it slam shut behind them. Tom turned him around and Harry saw lights turn on in the cavernous room they had just left through the slit under the door. Seamus yelled something he couldn't understand. The gang leader dropped his hand from Harry's mouth.

"You're just letting Dean go? Just like that?" Harry asked, wiping his mouth with his hand.

"Not quite. I have you, don't I?" Tom asked. A light flicked on, revealing a cement stairway leading up. Harry put his head down, refusing to look at Tom. Rather than an act of submission, he knew Tom would see it as an act of defiance. He had a thing for eye contact. "Up," he snapped. Harry had no choice but to follow orders. He hoped Dean really was alive, but even more than that he hoped George made it out unhurt.

He was seated in an eloquent room on the third floor. The dark hardwood floor and leather furniture kind of room that reminded Harry very much of Tom Riddle. He had always been a classy guy. Tom poured a glass of something—Harry wasn't looking—and walked over to where Harry could see him again.

"What the fuck do you want, Tom? I really don't want to be out all night," Harry said, leaning his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands. He felt Tom sit down on the other end of the coach.

"Take this." Harry looked up to see Tom holding out a glass full of something amber-colored. Harry shook his head.

"Hell no. You're not getting me drunk. I have things to do tomorrow, let alone the fact that I'm sitting in a room with the most influential gang leader in 100 miles," he snapped. Tom cracked a smile.

"I don't have any painkillers, I figured it would help." Harry looked up. Nice-Tom was someone he had never gotten used to. "Oh come on, Harry. I can tell your uncle beat the shit out of you recently. Coming here was a little risky with all those injuries, don't you think?"

"You don't know what happened it me. And I knew if I was going to sustain any injury tonight it would be a bullet-wound to some sensitive area," Harry mumbled. Tom moved closer to him, still holding both drinks in his hands. "Can you just, I don't know, tell me what you want?" Harry asked. He was tired, sore, and his ribs really did hurt. The glass in Tom's hand was looking more appealing by the second.

"How have you been?"

"You can't be serious," Harry deadpanned. Tom shoved the glass in his hand and Harry's fingers reflexively clamped around it. "You didn't drag me up here to talk about how I've been." He took a sip of his drink, and then another.

"And if I did?" He took another drink.

"Okay! Fine. I've been terrible. I am going to a school for smart-ass rich kids, I was beaten up by my uncle and then my aunt all semester, then our happy family moved and I almost froze to death and now I have no home and am living with people who pretend to pity me," Harry snapped. Tom nodded but was silent while Harry fumed at him.

"How's school going, then?" Tom asked after a minute. Harry rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the couch. If Tom was trying to get him to relax before he gutted him, then fine. At least he would be comfortable in his last minutes of life.

"S'fine, I guess. Hard work. Lots of homework."

"You're dancing, right?" Tom said, staring into his drink.

"I'm not telling you what I do there," Harry said.

"I bet you're an incredible dancer. I remember seeing you dance every once in a while, when we spent more time together."

"You mean when you ordered me to run drugs and 'send messages' to people for you," Harry clarified.

"Either way," Tom shrugged. Harry just shook his head and look a large swig of his drink. It burned his throat. Maybe it was drugged. He didn't really care. The pain in his ribs seemed to be fading, and that was all he really needed to know. Tom set his drink down. "So no home, now, huh?"

"I don't see why it's any of your business," Harry said. He closed his eyes.

"You just told me about it," Tom explained. Harry was silent. He could argue in circles with Tom for hours and he needed to find a way back to the school before Snape showed up in the morning and wondered where he was, or noticed that he had snuck out of the school. The reckless care-not attitude he distinctly remembered having three hours ago was replaced by a much more concerned and practical emotion at this point, alcohol or no. "I think we both know that there are things that could be done about that."

"Foster care, adoption, back to the uncle, shelter….oh! Juvie!" Harry said with false enthusiasm.

"And another option?" Harry turned and noticed that Tom had somehow moved to be sitting right next to him without him noticing. He immediately leaned over and set his drink down. He decided he was out of it enough already without more alcohol. Tom didn't answer what Harry had presumed to be a rhetorical question. He thought for a moment. What did Tom want out of this whole thing? Why was he talking about homes? Being nice? _Oh fuck. Oh no no no no no, _Harry thought. He tried to move away from Tom but he was already at the end of the couch, so he shouldered Tom away and jumped out of his seat. He staggered for a moment before his brain caught up with him. Tom seemed amused, but also very cautious. Harry backed up ungracefully, trying to put distance between himself and Tom as if that would somehow get him out of the situation. His back hit the wall as Tom jumped up and stalked forward. Harry slid along the wall towards the door. "Most of my men are out there, Harry. Don't even bother trying to leave. Now what has you all worked up?" the smooth voice was grating Harry's ears. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck. How _stupid _am I? _"Harry?"

"No, Tom. I know what you're doing. No way in hell!" Harry said. His protests sounded more desperate than he had intended. Tom just smiled and moved closer, putting his hands on either sides of Harry's head and leaning in. Harry looked right into his eyes.

"All I'm saying, is that someday I think you'll want something more…stable. Your little caretakers now don't care about you, they just don't want to be fired. They'll get tired of you and ship you off to foster care. You know it, Harry," Tom whispered. Harry turned his head away. "You know I'm right." The dancer ducked out from under Tom's arm and kept backpedalling until he hit a small table that topped over. Something glass shattered on the floor. Tom lunged and grabbed Harry's left arm, yanking it towards him.

"Get the fuck off me, Tom!" Harry yelled, punching the older man's stomach with his free hand. Tom grunted by didn't let go of him. "It's not like you care about me either! At least they aren't gang leaders!" Harry exclaimed, struggling for some physical control over the man. He lashed out at Tom's face but Tom only twisted his left arm harder. Harry crashed to the floor with another twist, Tom sitting on top of him. Black spots danced in front of his vision as Harry struggled to stay conscious.

"Is that all you're concerned about? That your guardian not be a criminal?" Tom hissed in his ear. "Because your own record doesn't speak very well to that." Harry didn't reply, still focused on not passing out with Tom sitting on top of him. "Or is it just that you don't want to be around _me_ anymore?" Tom shifted his weight slightly, and Harry found he was able to breathe easier. Tom grabbed the hair on the back of his head and dragged it back.

"Ah, Tom! Stop!" Harry cried out, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Listen, up, Potter," Tom spat. "You can run on back to that little school of yours, but you'll come back. When you get sick of all the games and the pretending to be something you're not, you'll come _running _back, and you'll _beg _to run around for me."

"You wish, Tom. I spent the last few years without begging, and I don't plan on changing that," Harry said. Tom growled, slamming Harry's head back into the floor with a crack.

"I could kill you, and I wouldn't think twice." Harry almost laughed.

"Then do it! In fact, if you wanted to kill me, why didn't you do it years ago? Why didn't you do it twenty minutes ago?" He cried. Tom didn't reply, but he leaned down until his lips were brushing Harry's right ear.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do."

"Sore spot?" Harry teased.

"You want to test me, Harry? Really?" Harry shrugged as much as he was able.

"Tom, you and I both know that you can't kill me. You've always…" Harry couldn't think of the words to say, but Tom seemed to know what he was talking about. The man let Harry's hair go and Harry almost groaned at the release of pressure.

"You're right. I would love the chance to beat the living hell out of you, though, Harry," he whispered. Harry felt Tom's tongue lick his ear and travel down to his neck.

"Tom," Harry warned. Tom didn't stop, his lips trailing down to the place where Harry's neck met his shoulder. "_Tom," _Harry snapped, "really." Tom laughed, very softly.

"As you wish, Harry. You'll come running back, one day. I promise you." Tom sat up, slamming Harry's head back into the floor once more. Harry bit back his groan as Tom stood. "Goyle is driving you back to the school. Can't have you being late for Snape." _How the hell did he know about Snape? _Harry wondered, before he passed out.

He woke when Goyle tossed him out of the car into the freezing sleet. He hit the pavement with a thud, but managed to keep his head from hitting the curb. Goyle sped off without a second glance at the wet dancer lying in the road. Harry stared up at the cloudy sky and sighed before rolling over and dragging himself onto the sidewalk. His head was pounding, but other than that he wasn't much more injured then he had been going into Tom's lair. His ribs were killing him, and his arm felt as if Marge had been yanking on it again, but he could still walk and he was still conscious so he couldn't complain. Better yet, his lockpicks were still in his pocket so he had a way back into the school.

When Harry slipped into the school he realized it was past two in morning. Tom must have kept him for another two hours at least before having him dropped off. Odd. Combing his fingers through his damp hair Harry walked further into the hall. As he did so he noticed that the door to Pomfrey's office was cracked open: he definitely did not leave it that way. Quietly, Harry edged his way down the hall and peered into the nurse's office. Dark and empty, but the light had been turned on in the adjoining room where he was sleeping. Harry's heart pounded, thinking of the possible scenarios. Worst case, Snape had come back after his dinner with the Malfoys and was pissed as hell to find that Harry had snuck out. Best case, Fred and George had snuck into the building, or maybe…Harry didn't know. His hand slipping into his pocket to grab his knife.

"Harry?" a voice called before Harry had a chance to open the door to his room. The adrenaline rushed out of him in a second, leaving him slightly shaky.

"Jesus, Draco. You scared me half to death," Harry said, opening the door to see Draco curled up on his bed reading one of his textbooks. Draco looked up with a smirk, taking in the sight that was Harry. Harry was drenched and shivering, his skin pale and bruised. His eye was still dark, and there were still noticeable bruises on his neck. Aside from that, he looked okay, relatively. Draco sighed.

"Sorry," he didn't sound sorry. "I came by around twelve thirty, after Severus left."

"He stayed at your place past midnight?" Harry asked incredulously. Draco laughed.

"Sure, he normally does. My father and Severus are a pair of night owls," he replied. Harry nodded and walked to his garbage bag of clothes, digging around for something clean and presentable. His options were pretty limited. "But that's not the point. Where the hell have you been? Sev said you were here all night."

"Yeah, well that's what Severus said," Harry said dryly.

"Come on, Harry, where were you? Are you at least, I don't know, okay?" Draco asked. Harry couldn't help but smile at his concerned face.

"I'm fine, Draco. I just needed to get out for a bit. It's weird sleeping here, you know? Just wanted to be outside," Harry mumbled. Despite his trust in Draco, he wasn't about to tell him the truth for fear of dragging him into the whole mess. And it was, a mess, that is. Harry didn't even want to think about it. He could almost feel Tom's lips on his neck and the weight of the man's hips almost crushing his ribs.

"Harry?" Draco asked. Harry jerked his head up. "Spacey, much?"

"Oh. Uh, sorry. I just have, uh, a lot on my mind," Harry stammered. The dry shirt he had selected was hanging limply from his left hand. He didn't really want to change in front of Draco. He knew he didn't exactly have the most gorgeous body at the moment. Draco leaned back on the bed.

"I bet. So you're living with Severus, then?" Harry shrugged, setting the shirt down and looking for some dry jeans, boxers, and socks.

"I don't know. Either him or Black," Harry replied.

"Well, if you want to know a secret—as in you can _never _tell Sev I told you this—Sev asked to take you. He told my father tonight and I overheard them talking," Draco said softly. Harry looked up in surprise.

"He _asked _to take me? I mean…the guy hates me!" he exclaimed. Draco shook his head.

"He doesn't hate you. I think he actually likes you. And I know that he identifies with you."

"What do you mean?" Harry's head was spinning.

"Well, his life certainly hasn't been perfect. I think whatever you're going through reminds him of his own childhood," Draco explained. Harry didn't reply. It just didn't make sense. Snape actually _liked _him? And what exactly did he identify with? Had someone hurt Snape when he was kid, or did he have similar gang issues? A criminal record? Live in Thirteenth? Harry shook his head to try and clear it. Draco scooted off the bed and stood up, grabbing Harry's wet shirt and pulling the dancer closer. "C'mere, Harry," Draco whispered. The black-haired boy dropped the jeans he had found and stumbled towards the blond. Draco put his arms around Harry's shoulders and pulled him even closer, until Harry could feel Draco's muscle tone through his thin shirt. The violinist's hand came up to the back of Harry's head, and Harry gave in, resting his forehead on Draco's shoulder. "I don't need to know what you were doing tonight, but I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I told you, I'm fine," Harry whispered.

"You're a good liar, Harry," Draco whispered back. Harry shrugged. Draco was right. He was a good liar. Sometimes telling the truth just wasn't an option, though. Draco pulled away and Harry lifted his head, catching Draco's gaze for a moment. "Harry." His green eyes flicked back up to meet Draco's, in time to see Draco's face incredibly close to his own before he felt warm lips teasing his own and his eyes fluttered shut. Draco's left hand slid over his back and his own rose to slide up Draco's chest until his thin arms could wrap around the taller boy's neck. The blond's free hand tangled in Harry's hair, pulling them closer together as their tongues collided.

This wasn't like George. It was intense and confident and almost desperate. He hated to compare it to anything, but kissing Draco was what Harry imagined it would be like to kiss Tom. The dancer clung to Draco, wanting to be as close as possible. Draco's hand was up his shirt but he didn't care. Draco's hand could be anywhere and he wouldn't care, Harry realized, as Draco broke off their kiss to kiss his way down Harry's neck to his prominent collar bone.

"You need to get warm before you freeze to death. You're still shivering," Draco whispered into his neck. Harry couldn't help but agree with him.

"Yeah, I was planning on taking a shower and getting changed."

"'Kay. I'll walk up with you. This school is scary when no one's here," Draco offered. Harry rolled his eyes. Draco had no idea what 'scary' was. An empty school had nothing on a pitch dark Death Eater warehouse where no one could hear you scream.

"Yeah, whatever, Draco," Harry chided. Draco laughed and released Harry, trying not to frown when his hand slid over Harry's thin back once more. "Oh, ah…you won't tell Snape, right? I wasn't really allowed to go anywhere tonight," Harry mentioned.

"I'm not going to tell him," Draco reassured him, picking up the dry clothes Harry had dropped on the ground. "Lets go. Sooner you take a shower and get changed the sooner I can ravish you in your bed." Harry laughed, elbowing Draco in the ribs. "Ouch! What was that for? I was being honest!"

* * *

I'm glad I was able to get this cranked out before school starts again. Sorry for any typos and errors, I admit I didn't edit very thoroughly. Review please! I'm interested to see what you all think of Tom….

Wykkyd


	23. Nightmares

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, or affiliated characters or plotlines.

**A/N: **I seem to have a wonderfully loyal pack of readers who haven't given up on me yet. I can't tell you all how much I appreciate that you keep reading despite the length of time it takes me to update now. The good news now, is that I'm out of school for summer. The bad news is that I'll be working 80 hours a week at two full-time jobs. But I'll try and get more writing done. I get a lot of inspiration from your reviews, and I think my writing bug is coming back to me. On to the story…

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Nightmares**

Draco left him at the door to the locker room with a very passionate kiss that sent sparks shooting down Harry's spine. The halls of Hogwarts were eerily quiet without the students flooding through them. There were no tap dancers to be heard, musicians practicing, or vocalists humming to themselves. It was unnerving.

Harry shook off his unease and chalked it up to his adventures earlier in the evening. He needed to get over to Fred and George's to let them know he wasn't dead. And of course, to make sure they weren't dead either. He sighed and set his clean clothes down on a bench and removed his socks, before turning on a shower faucet. While the water was warming up Harry gently tugged his shirt, boxers, and pants off. His entire body felt mildly sore, but the hot water felt wonderful on his aching muscles and bruised skin. He stood there for what felt like hours, letting the steam circle around his head, breathing it in to his lungs, feeling it bead on his skin. Finally, when his feet began to get tired of standing, Harry rinsed his hair out for a final time and did a quick scan over his body to make sure there weren't any serious new injuries. His ribs were bruised, of course, and various remnants of his uncle's last beating remained, but there were no major injuries save the large bump on his head. Harry gently moved his hands over what parts of his back he could reach, wincing as he grazed the skin that had been torn when he was thrown out of the car. Just before he was about to turn the water off Harry felt tape on his upper back. Confused, he twisted around to try and feel more of it. The tape was holding down saran wrap.

It felt like his heart jumped into his throat and his stomach twisted into knots simultaneously. Harry stumbled out of the shower frantically, colliding into the bench that his towel and clothes were resting on. He righted himself and ran to the row of sinks with mirrors over them. Gasping in air, Harry looked at himself in the mirror. Pale. Bruised. Wide, panicked eyes. He raised a shaky hand to touch his cheek, which was beginning to bruise, but then slammed it back to the sink when he realized how shaky it was. Staring at his green eyes in the mirror, the teen tried to calm himself down.

He couldn't force himself to turn around, but he had to know what was there. Underneath the saran wrap. His breathing quickened and he started to feel lightheaded. With a low moan Harry sank to his knees, his forehead resting on the sink that his hands were still clutching. Harry noticed that his fingers were white.

"What did I do?" he whispered to himself. His words were so quiet they were almost drowned out by the sound of the shower that Harry never turned off.

He didn't know how long he crouched there, but Harry eventually realized that his legs had gone to sleep and he couldn't feel his hands. It took some effort to relax his tight grip on the sink, but when he removed his hands they had stopped shaking. He crawled over to the bench with his clothes and wrapped his towel around his shoulders as he pushed himself off the floor. Harry shut the shower off, but the silence of the locker room without it was too much right then, and he turned it back on while he dressed. Boxers, pants, socks, shoes. He couldn't put his shirt back on before knowing what it would be hiding.

"What did he do to me?" His voice seemed raspy and hollow to his own ears. Trying to keep his breathing under control, Harry reached over his shoulder and felt for a piece of tape. When he found the edge he ripped it off, pulling on the saran wrap that came with it, until he was pretty sure there wasn't any tape or saran wrap left. It was odd that he couldn't feel anything when he pulled the tape off. In his half-turned position Harry could just see the dark ink that was inserted into the skin on the back. He moved closer to the mirror, clenching his hands into fists when he felt them start to tremble. Slowly, he turned around just in front of the mirror and looked.

It was worse than Harry had ever remembered. Maybe because this time it was in his own skin, not someone else's. He couldn't see the whole thing, but it was obvious what it was. He didn't need to see all of it. With a shaking hand Harry brushed his fingers over the lowest part of the tattoo, wincing when he felt his angry raised skin. He still couldn't feel anything, though, but the goo that was on his fingers when he took them away from his back explained that. _Probably a numbing cream, to keep me from waking up when they did it, _Harry guessed. His eyes remained locked on the grotesque design that adorned his back. Permanently. The thought made his stomach twist again, but this time bile rose to his throat. He barely made it to the toilet before he threw up the contents of his stomach.

Weak and nauseas, Harry lay with his head resting on the toilet rim until the proximity to his vomit made him even more sick and he pushed himself up and flushed the toilet.

There was nothing to be done. Tom had marked him. Tom owned him.

...

Draco had fallen asleep on the bed by the time Harry made it back to the room. He gently pushed the blond over until there was enough room for him to crawl under the covers. It was a small bed, so Harry was glad they were both so thin. As he drifted off into an uneasy sleep he smiled as Draco threw an arm over him and pulled him closer. He just hoped they would wake before Snape came.

Draco woke to find Harry struggling against him in the bed. A frown marred Harry's slender face, and his eyes were clamped shut as if in pain. Both his hands attempted to free himself from whatever assailed him in his dream. Draco grabbed Harry's flailing hands and shook him.

"Harry! Harry wake up!" he said forcefully. Harry stopped struggling for a second, and then his eyes flew open and a choked scream erupted from his mouth.

"Oh Jesus, it's only you," Harry whispered, letting himself relax. Draco could still feel him trembling through the covers, so he pulled the smaller boy closer and held him. Harry sank into his embrace.

"Do you have nightmares often? I mean, ones like that?" Draco asked after a minute or two of silence. Harry shrugged.

"It depends. They come more often when I'm stressed about something," he replied. Which begged the question, what was Harry stressed about? But Draco didn't ask. He knew Harry wouldn't answer anyway. Instead, he gently pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, pleased when the dancer didn't flinch.

Draco's kiss almost made him queasy again, but Harry managed to push the thoughts of Tom that Draco's lips brought on away. This was Draco. Not Tom. Not Tom.

"It's almost seven. Did Sev say what time he would get you today?" Draco asked.

"No. Probably soon, though. He seems like an early-bird." Draco chuckled.

"Not really. He stays up too late for that. But even so, he'll probably be here early anyway. I should probably leave soon so he doesn't catch me here." Harry would rather Draco stay with him, but he nodded and uncurled himself so Draco could have a bit more space. The blond ran a hand through the dancer's hair. "You and Severus have quite a lot of common, Harry," he whispered. Harry scoffed. "Really. You do. You just have to let yourself see it."

"Yeah right. Even so, it doesn't matter what I think of him. It's what he thinks of me. I'm the one living with him, after all," Harry pointed out. Draco couldn't argue with the truth to that. He just hoped Severus would have the good sense to be nice to Harry. The boy was amazing, and incredibly kind, but Draco could sense a darkness, a dangerousness in Harry that was far below the surface.

Draco left after another forty minutes of small talk, giving him a quick kiss just before he walked through the door. Harry pressed his fingertips to his lips before letting them fall and sighing. Things felt very different between him and Draco this morning, and Harry wasn't sure what had caused it. Draco had been so…heated before Harry took his shower last night; Harry almost expected Draco to pounce on him as soon as he left the shower. Maybe Draco was having doubts. Harry shook his head. No, he was just tired, Draco was tired, and he was over-thinking things. Besides, he had other problems—far bigger ones—than Draco Malfoy.

Expecting Snape to walk through the door any minute, Harry packed his things up and tidied the room. He picked up his still damp clothing from last night and placing them on his bag of other clothes to dry out a bit more. When Harry had picked up everything and even made the bed impeccably it was eight thirty and still no chemistry professor. Not wanting to do any more homework, and without anything else to occupy himself, Harry curled up on the bed once more and fell asleep.

Harry woke with a start as soon as Snape placed a hand on his shoulder. He sat up so fast Snape looked taken aback.

"Glad you're awake. Get your things, we'll bring them to my apartment," the professor barked. Harry hurried to obey him, grabbing his skateboard, dance bag, and finally swinging his backpack over one shoulder. It smacked against the middle of his of back and painfully reminded him of his discovery last night. He tried not to think about it. Snape picked up the bag of Harry's clothes after shoving the damp ones on top inside. He gave Harry a questioning look.

"Uh…I took a shower and left them too close to the spray, I guess," Harry said, trying to sound convincing. Snape either bought it or didn't really care enough to care, because he didn't reply but to leave the room. Harry obediently followed him, careful to turn off the lights and shut the doors behind them. Snape led him to the parking lot on the side of the school. His was the only car in the parking lot. "Do they not have a guard or someone here at night?"

"Normally, yes. He's been out on sick leave for about a week. The janitor takes his place most nights. I assume you are asking out of innocent curiosity?" Snape asked with a firm look. Harry smiled.

"Truly innocent curiosity, Sir," he replied. Snape gave him another look but turned away to unlock the trunk of the car. He gestured for Harry to unload his belongings, and once he had done so, shut the door. Harry got into the passenger side of the car, trying to picture where Snape might live. An expensive place? Probably not. Snape didn't seem like the rich type. It would probably be dark, and smell like chemistry chemicals. Harry imagined some sort of haunted house, and would have laughed if he thought Snape wouldn't get snarky with him for it.

It took twenty minutes or so to arrive at Snape's apartment. It looked to be one side of a duplex, small, but still nice from the outside. When Harry stepped through the front door he couldn't help but be surprised. Snape had apparently not modeled the interior decorating after some sort of medieval dungeon, or a mad scientist's lab. The walls were an off-white color, and the furniture was old-fashioned but not stuffy. It looked like a real home. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a home that was actually inviting, excluding the Weasleys' place.

"Is it to your liking?" Snape drawled, giving Harry a light push so the boy would give him room to enter the apartment.

"It's amazing. I was just thinking…" Harry stopped himself. Saying that "it looks like a real home!" would seem stupid. He knew Snape wouldn't understand anyway.

"You were thinking?" the Professor prodded him after a long pause.

"Nothing. I just thinking…" Harry sighed. Whatever. Snape already thought he was stupid, how much worse could he make it? "Just thinking that it looks like a real home." Surprisingly, Snape was silent for a long time, and then he simply walked passed Harry and set the trash bag of clothes down in the small living room.

"Well, it's a real home to me," he said quietly, giving Harry a long look. Harry looked away almost immediately. He couldn't tell what Snape was thinking. "It's small, but you may as well have a tour," the professor said. His normal, snappy tone was back. Harry followed Snape into the living room and set his belongings down next to the bag of clothes. "Clearly, this is the living room. You'll be sleeping on the couch in here. It's actually quite comfortable. The kitchen is through that doorway," Snape pointed to an open doorway. Beyond it Harry could see a small kitchen. "The bathroom is through that door." The man drifted over to a narrow staircase. "Upstairs is my room, that's the door at the end of the hall, and another bathroom, that's the door on the left. You may use the bathroom upstairs to shower, as there is no shower downstairs. Under no circumstances, save an emergency, are you to ever enter my bedroom without my permission. I ever catch you in there and I will find a new place for you to stay immediately. I'm trying to do that as is," he mumbled under his breath. Harry turned away and folded his arms. He wasn't sure why he felt so bad. He knew that Snape didn't want him staying in his apartment. _Who would? I'm just another street kid who gets into too much trouble for his own good, _Harry thought darkly, thinking of the new tattoo on his back.

Severus sighed at seeing Harry's turned back. The boy could be hard as nails some days, and incredibly sensitive on others. Signs of depression, or just stress, Severus thought. He figured he would attempt to tread lightly around the boy until he turned back into the thick-skinned little punk Snape knew and loathed. It was no use antagonizing him when the boy had the opportunity to take his anger out on Severus' personal things. The professor sighed. This was an awful idea.

"Well, there is a miniature dresser at the head of the couch. It's small, but if that's your only bag of clothes everything should fit. The rest of your items should remain in concise area. Keep it neat, and always clean up after yourself. I will not play maid." Harry had turned around during his speech and was giving him regular nods in confirmation. Severus took this as a good sign. "Also, I do not keep to a regular meal schedule. Help yourself to food when you get hungry: do not wait for me. I arrive at the school at six thirty every morning, which means I leave here at six ten. If you are not up and ready, then you can get to school on your own. Otherwise, you may ride with me. You will eat breakfast and lunch at the school each school day, and I, as well as Black, Pomfrey, and every other blasted teacher troubled by your eating habits, expect you to actually eat. Now, do you have any questions?"

"Um, no, sir." Snape nodded briskly. Potter looked uncomfortable.

"Well then, I have piles of lab reports to grade, and I assume you have enough homework to at least keep you busy for part of the day." Snape picked up his own leather bag and brought it into the kitchen, where Harry heard him begin shuffling papers around. He sat down on the couch and continued to examine the room. It was really nice. It was also meticulously clean. Harry wouldn't have thought anyone lived here had he not had other knowledge. There was a large bookshelf that almost covered an entire wall, and Harry pushed himself off the couch to go look at it. Many of the books had names Harry couldn't understand; he assumed they had to do with Snape's schooling. Other books he recognized from language classes, they were classics, books that people read in college. He turned away from the bookshelf and took his homework out of his bag, curling up on the couch. Who was he to be in school now? He had a criminal record that couldn't be printed on both his hands, he practically grew up on the streets, and had friends in just about every gang in the city. And now he was a Death Eater. Again. The mark on his back would ensure any future trouble in the law may lead to a life in prison. The thought chilled him.

Throwing his homework next to him on the couch, Harry put his head in his hands, tugging on his hair. He had no home. No family. Just a plethora of friends at Hogwarts who thought they knew the real Harry, and a whole bunch of friends from the streets who thought they knew another real Harry. _Who am I? _He had no idea.

Severus watched as the boy paced over the bookshelf and turned away from it, going back to the couch and pulling out his homework, only to set it aside after only minute. He seemed distracted and distant. There had been no outbursts, no frustration, no anything from Potter. Just a lot of nods and 'sirs.' It was clear something was bothering the boy, but Severus didn't know what he was supposed to do. He certainly wasn't the type to have a heart-to-heart with any of his students. _Students that are sleeping on my couch? _he wondered. No. It was best to leave these issues to Black. He should call him and find out when the next meeting with him was, so he could make sure Potter himself knew. It probably wasn't a big deal anyway, Potter was probably just upset that he was stuck staying with the dreaded chemistry teacher. But Severus didn't quite believe that.

Severus woke to screams. It took him a moment to remember where the awful sound could be coming from, until he thought of Potter sleeping on his couch. Fuck. Snape jumped out of bed and grabbed his robe before taking the stairs two at a time. Potter was thrashing on the couch, his hands clawing at an invisible attacker. The professor rushed to his student's side and batted his thin hands out of the way, taking hold of his shoulders.

"Potter! Potter!" He wasn't waking up, and the firm hold on his shoulders only seemed to frighten the boy more. "Harry! Boy! Wake _up." _

"No! Please don't. Please stop. I won't do it again," Harry said. His eyes were clenched shut, but Severus could tell he was awake now.

"Potter, it's me. Professor Snape. You're in my apartment. You were having a nightmare," Snape explained. Slowly Harry's hands fell from their defensive position and the boy's eyes opened, taking in Snape and then the rest of the dark room.

"I'm sorry I woke you up. I don't…I don't normally have dreams like that," Harry tried to explain.

"Would you…would you like to talk about it?" The question sounded like it was a source of physical pain for Snape, so much so that Harry smiled, almost laughed.

"I'll be fine, now, you can go back to sleep," Harry mumbled, sitting upright. Snape looked at him doubtfully, but wasn't going to pass up an excuse to avoid having a serious and uncomfortable conversation.

"Try to get some more sleep yourself," Snape murmured before heading back up the stairs. Harry sagged back into the cushions. He hadn't been lying to Snape when he said he didn't often have dreams like this. It had been years since he had dreamt of Tom, and although his uncle was a persistent presence in his nightmares, he was never this vicious. Harry raised a hand to his head, checking to make sure it hadn't been split open like it was in his dream. No blood. No brains or skull fragments. No snake slithering into his head. Tom's dark eyes were nowhere.

Harry pulled the blanket Snape had given him around himself tighter. He wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight.

* * *

This chapter is shorter than the others, but I wanted to post it anyway. I think if I start writing slightly shorter chapters it will help me update faster. Also, as most of you probably noticed, this chapters isn't edited very well. To be honest, I hate editing, and after writing a million huge research papers during finals, I'm sick of it for now. Plus, it would have added a week on to the time I need to write chapters, and that's not very good for you either.

Hopefully this chapter was successful at moving things along a bit more. Unfortunately, I'm still a little stuck on how exactly Harry and Draco are finally going to get together. Although a wicked little idea is forming as I write this….Better get back to work.

I'd love to hear what you think!

Wykkyd


	24. An Offer

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off this fiction story.

**A/N: **As always, I apologize to all my loyal and amazing readers for the long wait. I applaud your patience. To sooth some of your worries, know that I will not give this story up. I may be a while between updates, but I am still writing. I just have very little inspiration left, but I think I'm writing the story back to a more inspiring plot-line, so maybe in the near future I'll get a windfall of inspiration. That would be nice for all of us. Enjoy. And please review. I do get a lot of inspiration from those, as well.

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**An Offer**

School on Monday was miserable, for the most part. Harry was exhausted from two nights of almost no sleep, and his back was incredibly tender thanks to Tom's artistic hands. Plus, the black ink showed through his white shirts so he had to wear an old wrinkly one so he wouldn't have to answer questions about his new tattoo.

Snape had given him a curious look when he came downstairs at six in the morning and found Harry curled up in a blanket doing homework on the couch. But he didn't comment, only instructed Harry to quickly get ready for school. The car ride to Hogwarts was silent, but not awkwardly so.

He answered the myriad of questions from his friends about his new living situation well, he thought. Never gave them too much information, never told them what happened on Saturday night. Didn't tell them about Draco—but from Hermione's knowing looks, he didn't need to.

Draco, for his part, seemed to regain his passion with regard to Harry. The first time Harry had seen him was during the break between second and third period. Harry was on his way English when a body slammed into him, pressing him against a wall and the side of a locker. Harry tensed up, expecting further attack, but the warm lips pressed to his relaxed him immediately.

"Fuck, Draco!" he said when Draco came up for air. "You scared the shit out of me!" Draco just gave him a smirk before grabbing his chin gently and pressing their lips back together. Harry was quickly convinced to open his mouth, and he relished the decision when Draco's tongue swept over his own, pushing and pulling and sucking.

"You looked like you needed a pick-me-up," Draco whispered against his lips. Harry glanced to the main hall, glad that they were slightly separated from the rest of the students by a corner. Still, they were pretty much completely visible from one angle. Harry readjusted his textbooks that had almost fallen when Draco was ravishing him.

"Thanks. I didn't get much sleep last night," Harry said by way of explanation. Draco picked his own books off the floor—Harry wasn't sure when they had fallen—and pulled Harry back into the hallway.

"More dreams?" the violinist asked quietly. Harry scowled and tried not to remember them, but the grotesque images of skulls and snakes and his uncle forced their way back into his head.

"Yeah, I don't know what's up," Harry lied. Draco put an arm around him and pulled him close.

"And how was Sev yesterday?"

"Fine, actually. Nicer than usual. It was kinda weird," Harry replied. Draco cracked a smile. "How have your classes been going? Getting ready for that recital thing?"

"The concert? Yeah. They handed out the music last week, but I'm not going to bother to look at it until it's closer to the performance date. Seriously, it's like months away. My senior recital is the more important one for me anyway," the violinist explained. "You? How's ballet going?" Harry shrugged.

"It's getting better. Lupin said he would be moving me back into the sophomore class in a couple weeks. It's still my hardest class, though. I managed to catch up in Latin, ballroom, character and partnering—for the most part—and of course hip hop was never an issue, but ballet is still a bitch. I haven't actually been dancing the last couple of days, though. I'm still too sore for that," Harry grumbled. Draco laughed.

"Well, according to the rumor mill you're quite the heap of talent. Your dance teachers seem to love you," Draco mentioned. Harry smiled. That was good to hear. "Here's my stop. I'll see you at lunch?" Harry nodded and Draco squeezed his shoulder before ducking into his classroom. Harry looked after him for a moment before lowering his gaze and walking to his own classroom down the hall.

The school day went by faster after his brief encounter with Draco. He sat with Hermione, Neville, and Luna, as well as a small collection of Draco's friends, at lunch, and Draco seemed to be seeking him out in between classes to give him a hug or a quick kiss. It helped, on the surface.

Harry stripped off his sweatshirt before Latin and put it on top of the rest of his warm-up clothes. His back was tender, but the pain was rapidly fading. If he wanted to the tattoo to heal perfectly there was a lot more he was supposed to be doing, and he knew Tom was normally very specific about caring for the mark, but Harry didn't give a shit. It's not like he opted in to the whole thing, and he sure as hell wasn't about to explain to any of his Hogwarts friends why there was a hideous skull with a snake coming out of its mouth tattooed on his back. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it. Hands suddenly grabbed his waist and spun him around, shocking him enough to stumble back.

Doug laughed, walking with Harry until he was able to stable them both. "Jesus, Harry. Chill out. It's just me," he said. Harry tried to calm his breathing down, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Don't do that," he asked quietly, placing his hands on top of Doug's in hopes that Doug would get the hint and let go. They were a little close for comfort.

"Relax," Doug replied, only sliding his hands up to touch the sides of Harry's ribs. "Wanna tell me what's up with you and Draco?" Harry was surprised into looking up, right into Doug's eyes.

"Um…what do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"Oh come on! The whole school is talking about you too. Draco, the wealthy but talented violinist, kissing Harry, the scholarshipped dance prodigy." Like that explained anything.

"What about it?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn't see how what he did with Draco was any of Doug's business.

"Just looking for some confirmation, is all," Doug said lightly. Harry stepped back and Doug had no choice but to drop his hands.

"Well, I don't know what's going on between me and Draco either, so I guess we're in the same boat," Harry snapped. Doug rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, man, didn't realize that was a touchy subject. You're a lucky guy, Draco's an amazing kisser. But it seems like you know that," Doug winked at Harry, who laughed uncomfortably.

"Sure, I guess. Let's get warmed up."

"Sounds good. Partner with me today?" Doug asked. Harry shrugged.

"Fine."

…

Harry quickly changed into clothes that would be more appropriate for working in the dance shop with Regulus after his last class. He was looking forward to his shift and the quiet of the small business, as well as the small talk with Regulus. He never asked too many questions, which Harry expected he would appreciate more than ever on a day like today.

"Harry! Hey, wait up!" Harry turned at the familiar voice and waited until Draco caught up to him.

"I'm on my way to work. Just have to let Snape know where I'm going."

"I'll give you a ride," Draco offered.

"No, it's fine. I can take the bus."

"Let's not go over this again. I'm giving you a ride and that's that. Let's go talk to Sev." Harry had to hide his smile. Draco was such an ass.

Snape was, of course, found grading worksheets in his classroom. He didn't look up as Harry and Draco walked in.

"Um, Professor?" Harry asked quietly.

"Hmm?" the man replied, still not looking up.

"I forgot to tell you yesterday, I work Monday through Friday at the dance shop. I'm um…well, it just keeps me busy, you know. I normally work until seven or so, and then I can take the bus back to your apartment. Is that all right?" Finally, Snape looked up.

"Yes. Call the apartment before you leave the shop, so I can come find your dead body if it takes you too long to get back. Here's the number and the street address. Don't get lost," Snape sneered. Harry took the piece of paper Snape slid across his desk toward him and put it in his back pocket.

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled. Draco gave his godfather a smile and a wave and ushered Harry out of the room.

…

Harry left the dance shop after calling the number Snape had given him and leaving a message saying he was leaving the shop and getting on Bus 5 blue line to get to the apartment. He assumed that would be good enough for his professor. The walk to the bus stop was only a couple blocks, and Harry marveled at how well-lit the streets were and how much traffic came through. If he had been walking by himself in Thirteenth at this time of night he would have been walking knife in hand. Here, however, he almost felt safe.

The feeling evaporated when he caught sight of a shiny black car with dark tinted windows waiting at the bus stop. He paused, weighing the chances of one of Tom's cars randomly being at this bus stop. Maybe it had nothing to do with him. But that thought was shattered when two men got out of the car, pointing and yelling at him. He turned and ran, ducking into an alley and running through it to the street on the other side. His ribs began hurting after a minute of sprinting through the streets, but the yells of the men pursuing him kept him running. As he ran Harry tried to get his bearings, but it was useless. He didn't know this area of the city like he knew the upper districts. He would pay for it.

He didn't know where the third guy came from. But all of a sudden there were three pursuers, two behind him, and one rushing at him from the front. Harry ducked a vicious punch and jabbed the man's floating ribs with his elbow. The man grunted and Harry aimed a kick to the side of the knee. But before his foot landed strong hands clamped around his shoulders and yanked him backwards. The third pursuer approached Harry while he was pinned to the other man. Harry twisted in a vain attempt to free himself, lashing out with a fist when the other man came too close.

"Get his right fist, I'll get his left," one of the men ordered and after a brief fight Harry's hands were pinned behind his back, gripped by a massive Death Eater that he didn't recognize.

"God, lighten up," Harry hissed when he felt his wrist bones grinding together. The man only squeezed harder and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Let's get back to the car. Little fucker," one of the men snapped, smacking the side of Harry's face. The man gripping his wrists shoved him forward, and Harry would have fallen had the man not been holding him so tight.

"Here," the smallest of the men said, and Harry felt a plastic tie being wrapped around his hands.

"What the fuck do you want?!" Harry snarled, trying to jerk his hands away. When they were securely tied behind his back the men let him go, laughing when Harry stumbled and fell.

"Tom wanted to convey a message," the smallest man answered. Harry didn't recognize him. "Get up." Harry got to his feet and let the men lead him along, one on either side of him holding on to his arms. The plastic around his wrist was cutting off circulation. He couldn't feel his hands. This is why you don't fuck around with Tom Riddle, Harry knew. Why most people Tom headhunts for the Death Eaters don't protest very much. It was only going to get worse from here, and Harry had no idea what to do.

When they four of them reached the car Harry was shoved headfirst into the back seat, where he landed on top of a grinning Tom Riddle.

"Thank you for joining me, Harry," Tom purred, a hand sliding through Harry's hair. Harry jerked away as much as he could in the confined space, but one of Tom's henchmen shoved him back toward Tom when he got into the backseat himself. Smashed between Tom and another Death Eater, Harry could only think how angry Snape would be if Harry didn't come back to his house tonight. "So I'm sure you've been thinking about me," Tom began. Harry glared at him. "How do you like your new tattoo?" Harry clenched his fists, knowing that if he lashed out at Tom he would only get a knife to the stomach or something equally as painful. He didn't want to risk it.

"It's hideous," Harry snarled.

"Don't worry, you'll warm up to it."

"Just tell me what you want, Tom."

"I'm getting there. You know, you were the best I had when you ran with me," Tom admitted. Harry scoffed.

"I was a twelve-year-old drug runner and messenger. I was not the best at anything. Don't try flattery, it won't work," he snapped in reply.

"The potential you have is astounding. You were intelligent, logical, quick-witted, street-smart, sly, and damn hard to catch. You were ruthless…letting all those other people take the fall for you when you were caught," Tom whispered in his ear. Harry hung his head. Tom certainly wasn't lying about that part, at least.

"I was just trying to survive," Harry whispered.

"And you succeeded. You did so well with me I let you go without much of a fight. You needed to grow up a bit before I could use you further, and I knew I could get you back, I knew I would want you back. So this is me, knocking on your door and telling you to come home."

"I'm not twelve anymore, I'm not some stupid kid, and I have no intention of running notes and drugs and whatever else for you anymore."

"I don't want you to run anything around for me, Harry," Tom said with a smirk.

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Harry shouted, turning to face Tom. He didn't understand where Tom was going and it drove him crazy.

"I want a second-in-command, someone who has the potential to run the Death Eaters as well as I have over the years." Harry laughed. This was ridiculous.

"You expect me to believe that? I'm sixteen years old, and you have an entire inner circle of doting followers who would love to help you out."

"I have given this a great deal of thought, Harry. Obviously, I'm very determined to persuade you," Tom gestured to the car they were speeding down the highway in.

"This is stupid. Stop playing games with me."

"This isn't a game," Tom's voice lowered and it put Harry on edge. Tom was suddenly very serious. "Not only are you smart enough, logical enough, sly enough, and ruthless, you're very young. You could learn from me, I can train you for years before I actually retire, and the police would never suspect you as anything more than a runner. You would never do more than a couple months in juvie if you ever got caught." Harry couldn't help but think that Tom was actually serious about this; he certainly had thought it through.

"This is crazy," Harry said slowly. His mind was spinning in circles, he hardly knew what to focus on. He had to admit, the idea was a little enthralling. Money, fame, power. It was a ticket out of his current life, too, which was a plus at this point. "But I love going to school," he protested.

"I wouldn't take that away from you. You can go to school during the day, and work for me at night. I can get you your own place if you like, make sure everything's set up for you," Tom offered. "And then, of course, after you graduate you would be mine…full time."

"And if I say no?" Tom laughed. Harry noticed the car had stopped right outside Snape's apartment. Well, at least he got a ride home. Tom leaned in close, so close that Harry could feel his lips brushing his ear. It took every nerve he had not to cringe away.

"You won't say no," the man whispered. It sounded more like a hiss to Harry. "Get him out of the car," Tom jerked away suddenly, snapping at the man sitting on the other side of Harry. The dancer felt the tie around his wrist being cut and the blood rushing back into his hands before the man grabbed his collar, opened the car door and threw him out. Harry managed to catch himself before his head hit the ground, his hands scraping badly on the pavement. The black car sped away and Harry dragged himself onto the sidewalk. All he could think was '_fuck.' _

After five minutes of sitting on the sidewalk Harry stood, assuming that the neighbors in this part of town would start to wonder. He also didn't want Snape to see him sitting there like an idiot. Harry stumbled into the house a few moments later rubbing his wrists. Both had bright red lines on them: it was painfully obvious that he had been tied up. Plus, his palms were scraped and bleeding. Tugging his shirt sleeves down to cover the marks, Harry took his shoes off and peered around the room for a sign of Snape.

"Expecting me to be hiding in the shadows with a black cape on, Potter?" Snape called from the kitchen. Harry rolled his eyes. "I made dinner and left you a plate. It's in the fridge," Snape continued, only briefly looking up from his work when Harry entered the kitchen. The dancer stopped short, staring at the fridge. "You can eat it, if you like," Snape drawled, scowling at Harry. The boy nodded, his eyes wide.

"I just…just…" Harry's words trailed off and he took the plate out of the fridge. It wasn't anything special. Just chicken and rice and some steamed vegetables. "No one's ever done this before. I mean, leave me a plate."

"I can see that, as you seem quite stunned. I assure you, it's a very common occurrence in homes where the father figure doesn't beat young boys," Snape commented. Harry bit back a reply and went to heat the plate up in the microwave. He hated to admit it, but he was touched that Snape left him a plate. It was weird to him, but maybe this was normal to everyone else. He smiled to himself. While the plate was rotating in the microwave Harry washed his hands, rinsing away the blood and picking the bits of pavement that were stuck inside his scrapes. He wiped his hands on his jeans, not wanting to get any blood on Snape's kitchen towels. When the food was steaming hot Harry took it into the living room to eat it, being that Snape hadn't cleared a place at the table and there was no way Harry was willing to risk accidentally spilling food on his professor's work. Eating away from Snape also made him less paranoid about the man seeing the red rings on his wrists, which were rapidly purpling by now.

Curled into the couch with his dinner Harry felt remarkably safe. The street outside looked much less threatening then it had just a half hour before when he was thrown out of Tom's car onto the pavement. It was a false sense of security, though, Harry knew. You were never safe when Tom wanted something from you, and Tom had made it pretty clear that he wanted something from Harry. It was a mess he hadn't anticipated in a million years, especially when Tom admitted that he was interested in Harry because he needed a right hand.

Harry snorted. He had a hard time believing that Tom actually wanted _him _to help run and organize the Death Eaters. There was always some other catch with Tom, and even so, everyone knew that Tom ran the gang by himself. There was no one else he wanted to share authority with, even someone like a second-in-command. It just wasn't Tom's style. So then what did he want? Harry stabbed his chicken with force and tore a bite off the breast. He didn't need more problems now, but it wasn't like he had ever really caught a break, so he decided he shouldn't be surprised now.

With a sigh Harry shoveled the rest of his dinner into his mouth, returning to the kitchen when he was finished to wash and dry his plate. Snape appeared to be ignoring him. Harry cleared his throat.

"Um, I was wondering if I could use your phone?" he asked in a voice that he wished didn't sound so timid. "It's a local call. It's just that a few of my friends, uh, you know, back in Thirteenth, haven't heard from me in a while and they may be worried," he explained. Snape looked up with a raised brow.

"What kind of friends are these?" he drawled. Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Snape meant.

"What do you mean? They're just friends. The Weasley brothers. We all went to school together." Snape gave him a long look as if evaluating his answer. "They're not criminals or anything," Harry continued. "They're just my friends. Nothing sketchy about it," he assured. He thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth twitch before the man waived to a phone mounted on the wall.

"You may take it to the upstairs hallway if you wish for more privacy," the man allowed. Harry took the phone with whispered 'thanks' and trotted up the stairs to the hallway, where he sat down and leaned against the wall as he dialed George's number. The boy picked up after the first ring.

"_Yeah?"_

"George, it's me. Are you okay? Is Fred okay? And what about Dean and Seamus?" Harry gushed out before he managed to stop himself. He hadn't realized how worried he was about his friends until he heard George's voice. The twin was chuckling.

"_Yeah, I'm fine and so is Fred. Dean was pretty banged up but he's with Cho and she's taking great care of him. Seamus spends most of his time either shooting up or getting in Cho's way. You know, same ol' Seamus."_ Harry smiled at the thought. "_But what happened to you? I heard you walking away with Tom and then the lights came on and you were gone. We thought Tom had kidnapped you or something."_

"Well…not quite. I don't know what he wants. He keeps showing up and trying to intimidate me. God. There's so much to tell you. Can you meet me after school tomorrow? I'm out by four, and I'd only have fifteen minutes or so but we could walk to my work."

"_Yeah that's fine. Are you at the professor's place now?"_

"Yeah."

"_Okay, I'll meet you outside your school at four. Should I bring Fred?" _Harry paused.

"Um…yeah, why don't you. He'll want to know everything anyway," he replied after some thought.

"_Yeah, sure." _George sounded a bit put out, but Harry didn't know why.

"See you then," Harry whispered. George hung up.

Severus steepled his fingers together as he listened to one end of Harry's conversation with his friend. He had neglected to admit to Harry that it was in fact quite possible to hear a phone conversation from the upstairs hallway. The professor wasn't comfortable with the content of Harry's chat at all. It was clear that Harry had been worried about at least four of his friends, and then who was the person who kept showing up to intimidate the boy? Severus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was clear to him that Harry had past criminal affiliations, especially with gangs. The chemist was reminded of the day weeks ago when he had sworn Harry's eyes were rimmed with black paint. To him, black paint on a person's face meant 'Death Eater.' But Severus also knew that he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that his current charge was in some sort of trouble, and that he was working hard to keep it secret.

Harry's footsteps coming down the stairs jolted Severus out of his thoughts and he returned to his grading before Harry had the chance to see him and become suspicious. It wouldn't do to let the boy know he had his own suspicions at this point. Confrontation was still a long way out, at least, Severus hoped it was.

The dancer settled down on the couch from the sound of things, and sat there in silence. Severus leaned over and looked into the living room in an effort to see what the boy was up to, but Harry was too far over on the couch. Several minutes later the teacher heard the rustle of pages and assumed Harry had begun working on homework. After a few more minutes the silence began to wear on the chemistry teacher, and he rose from the table and walked into the living room. Harry looked up warily from his textbook.

"Will music distract you?" Severus asked, even as he fiddled with the settings on his CD player.

"No, Professor," Harry said quietly, and went back to his work. Severus stared at the boy for a long moment after he had turned some soft classical music on. Harry was diligently reading, although he looked up after a moment, perhaps sensing his teacher's heavy gaze. Severus sighed.

"Are you all right, Potter?" he asked. The question surprised Harry, whose eyebrows rose. He looked frozen for a moment, before his face returned to his normal apathetic expression.

"Yes, sir," he replied. Severus gave him another serious look before nodding sharply and walking back to the kitchen table. "Let me know if you need anything, please." Surprised at his own hospitality, especially to such a brat as Potter, Severus shook his head and went back to grading.

When the tall man rose from the table again his joints were stiff and the clock above the oven read just after midnight. The lights were off in the living room, although the streetlight coming in through the window outlined Harry's sleeping form on the couch. Severus moved toward the teen, looking him over with a careful eye. The dancer was thin, of course, pale and bruised skin drawn against pronounced bones. One eye was still visibly bruised, but the rest of the bruising was hidden by the blanket Harry was curled underneath. The chemistry teacher frowned when he caught sight of a red line that ran around Harry's wrist. He peered closer, and saw that, indeed, a dark line wrapped around Harry's wrists, and deep scratches littered his palm. Something, or someone, had clearly tied Harry's wrists together in the last several hours. Most likely just after he left work.

_What did you get yourself into, Potter? _Severus wondered with a sigh. He straightened back up and climbed the stairs to ready for bed. Sleep did not come quickly.

In the morning Severus noticed that Harry was careful to hide the marks on his wrists. He wore a long sleeve shirt and continually used his fingers to tug the sleeves down over his palms. Worried that a confrontation would only lead to an overly emotional teen, Severus decided to wait until after school to grill Harry on what happened to him. It wasn't as if the marks were going to disappear any time soon.

…..

Harry waited nervously outside Hogwarts after school, his old grey hoodie hanging off his thin shoulders and the hood covering most of his face. He was hoping that none of his close friends would recognize him. After several minutes he could two flashes of red hair among the throng of students flooding out of the school. George and Fred elbowed their way over the Harry, recognizing his sweatshirt immediately. Harry almost never wore it to school because he knew it made him look sketchy, but he wore it often back in the upper districts. He liked that it hid how small and thin he was.

George wrapped an arm around him as Fred put a hand on his lower back; together they ushered Harry down the sidewalk and around the corner. Harry noticed that both of them had their hands out of their pockets and seemed tense and ready for anything. He smiled, already feeling safer just with them around.

"So, dearest Harry, spill," George demanded. Harry sighed and glanced around. There were still many familiar school faces surrounding them. He shook his head.

"Not here. I don't want anyone listening in," Harry replied, he grabbed the twin's arms and tugged them up a block, where he remembered there was a small dumpster ally. He pulled them inside, his green eyes sweeping the shadows first for any sign of trouble.

"Why the paranoia?" Fred mumbled under his breath, but Harry's glare sobered him.

"Tom's on to me," Harry hissed, looking them both in the eye. George's eyes widened and Fred's narrowed.

"So?" Fred asked. "He's always known where you were, is this different?"

"When we were downtown, Tom took me upstairs to what seemed like one of his houses. It was definitely suitable for living. He made it pretty clear that he wanted something from me, mainly that he wanted me to initiate back into the Death Eaters." Harry swallowed, glanced to the opening of the alley, and moved farther into the shadow. He turned around and stripped his hoodie and shirt partly off, just enough to expose his back. "When I was thrown out of a car at Hogwarts later that night, I had this." He heard George swear and Fred suck in a heavy breath.

"Fuck, Harry…" George murmured, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers over the ink. Harry let his clothes fall back over his torso before George could make contact. George frowned and gave the younger boy a heavy look, which Harry ignored.

"That's not all. Yesterday he and some of his guys followed me. I tried to run but, well, I don't know these streets like I do Thirteenth's, and there just isn't anywhere to hide. Tom made his request, but I'm not sure I really believe it…yet. He seemed serious, though," Harry said quickly. Fred and George leaned in.

"What does he want?"

"He wants a right-hand-man. Looks like his Inner Circle isn't as full of talent as everyone assumed," Harry spat out.

"You've got to be fucking joking," Fred exclaimed. Harry just shook his head.

"Would I joke about this?" Harry said intently, his eyebrows raised. "I just…I don't know what to do. I feel like Tom is watching me, following me, everywhere I go. And if he's really serious about this then he's not going to back off any time soon."

"You don't really have a choice, then, do you?" George whispered in a low voice. Harry shrugged.

"You never have a choice with Tom, I guess. I just thought, hoped, that maybe this once I could slip through his fingers. But now it looks like I can't. He said I could stay in school even if I joined him, though, so that's a plus." He gave a weak smile.

"Bullshit!" George yelled. "There is no _plus _in this situation!"

"Shhhh!" Harry hissed. "I don't want Tom to find out we ever had this conversation—_you _don't want Tom to find out we had this conversation."

"You mean you seriously think he's having you followed?" Fred whispered.

"I was sure followed yesterday. Somehow he knows everything that's going on with Vernon, and Snape…all of it. I just don't know who his source is," Harry said.

"That's another problem, then. My bet's on Snape," George said, wrinkling his nose. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. Snape seems the type, but then again, he's done a lot for me. Even before he knew all about Vernon and everything. I _want _to trust him, too," he finished in a small voice.

"Well don't," George snapped. Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend's uncharacteristically sharp tone. "If he is Tom's source you could lose a lot by trusting him. Better wait until you know for sure. Who else would know all about your home situation?"

"Only Dumbledore, the headmaster—like a principal—Snape, Draco, and Madam Pomfrey. Problem is, I can't imagine any one of them leaking information!"

"What about this Draco kid?" Fred asked. Harry pretended not to see George's scowl.

"He's practically my closest, uh, friend, at school. I…trust him," Harry said, trailing off to a whisper.

"Maybe you should stop, then," George suggested. Even Fred was surprised at his coldness.

"George, I can't be at that school every day thinking that everyone's out to get me!" Harry hissed back. "It's not even like that in Thirteenth! And school is supposed to be better than that." George just shrugged.

"Harry's right," Fred said, putting a calming hand on his brother's shoulder and turning to Harry. "You need people you can trust. Just…be careful who you pick, I guess." Harry nodded.

"I know. I'll be careful. I just…fuck. I don't know what to do."

"What do you want to do?" George asked. Harry ran both his hands through his hair, pulling hard.

"I want to wait. See if I can toy more information out of Tom before I commit to anything. I mean, I know I'll have to give him an answer someday, but I'd rather get more information before I do."

"Toying with Tom Riddle is dangerous, Harry," Fred said solemnly.

"You don't have to tell me," Harry muttered, looking down at his shoes.

"But if that's what you want to do, then do it. Just…I…" George looked into Harry's eyes and then broke their gaze. He sighed. "I don't know. Be careful. And if you need anything, we're here for you." Harry gave both the twins a smile.

"Thanks, you two. I guess I need to get to work before I'm late," he said, grabbing his backpack from where he had dropped it to the ground. Fred gave him a hug so strong it hurt his still-mending skin.

"Stay in touch," he said. "I mean it." Harry choked out a laugh and tried to smile, but the laugh seemed hollow and he knew the smile wasn't going to convince the twins. George stepped up and wrapped his arms around Harry, sighing when the dancer returned the hug. Fred gave Harry a long look before leaving the alley to give his brother and friend some privacy.

"Look, Harry…I…." George paused, and Harry tensed in his arms. "I knew this—whatever 'this' is, or was—wasn't going to work out. You're _going _places—you have a chance to get out of this shithole of a life we all lead! I would never want to get in the way of that. And I know you and Draco have feelings for each other: he's the kind of guy you need right now anyway."

"You're—" Harry started with a frown.

"Let me finish," George cut in, dropping his arms from Harry's back and taking a step away from the dancer. Harry's gaze was dropped and George put a finger under his chin to get him to lift his head. "I don't know everything that's going on in that head of yours, but Tom's offer would be tempting to anyone. And I know that in many ways you don't have a choice. But if you can think of _anything _you can do to get away from Tom, promise me you'll do it," George said, grabbing Harry's shoulders. Harry gave a slight shake of his head and opened his mouth.

"I can't promise that, George. There's no use in even hoping I can get away," he said softly. George gripped his shoulders harder.

"No! Promise me you'll try and get away from him! Don't you understand that he is the only person keeping you here? You could graduate and move away and be _free _if it wasn't for him!"

"I'm only a sophomore!" Harry exclaimed loudly. "I have two years until I have a degree and get out. And that's only if I can get a scholarship to somewhere else, or a position in a dance company!" George shook him in frustration, and Harry ripped himself out of the redhead's grip.

"You have to get away from that man and you have to stay away from him until you can leave! Do you want to grow up and be another Tom Riddle? What? Do you want to rule this city?"

"Maybe I do! Maybe getting away from this city isn't the only way to make it, George. Maybe this thing with Tom is my real ticket!" Harry yelled, before his eyes widened and he took a stumbling step back. He appeared shocked at the words that just left his mouth. George looked angry enough to hit him. As soon as the words came out of his mouth Harry deflated. He could feel his hands start to tremble. "I…god…I didn't mean that, George. I don't think..I…" his voice faded.

"I think you have a lot of things to figure out. And if you decided that Tom is your 'ticket,' then I don't know who you are anymore," George hissed, turning his back and storming out of the alley. Fred joined him at the entrance and the two walked back towards the bus stop, leaving Harry alone. "I suppose you heard most of that…" George mumbled.

"Yeah."

"I just…I couldn't tell him," George said, his head hanging as he shoved his hands in his pocket, trying to shake off his residual anger. Fred kicked a rock off the sidewalk. "I don't think it would be the right thing to do anymore."

"Maybe Harry just needs to know that someone loves him like you do, George. He has little else to hold on to now," Fred suggested quietly. George shook his head.

"I think it would just rattle him. And as much as I hate to say it, I know Draco cares for him. Harry needs someone like that."

"You know as well as I do that Draco will never understand the half of Harry that we do," Fred said.

"But maybe we'll never understand the half of Harry that Draco knows," George said glumly. "Either way, getting involved with Harry isn't safe with Tom around anyway, so I can't be too jealous of Draco right now. Did you hear the last thing Harry said, though?" the twin asked, changing the subject.

"He didn't mean it. He would never just give in to Tom like that," Fred said, confirming George's question.

"But maybe he did mean it. Tom's a millionaire, and if he's serious about Harry, then he could make Harry a millionaire. Isn't that what 'making it' is? Isn't that what we used to talk about when we were little, growing up and becoming rich and powerful? Not being afraid of the police?"

"George," Fred said seriously. "Harry knows better."

"Let's hope so. God, let's hope so," George whispered.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading! Like I said in my note at the top, I actually get a lot (if not all) my inspiration from you guys and your reviews. Anything would help at this point. :)**

**Wykkyd**


	25. Severus Snape

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, associated characters, or plotlines and themes.

**A/N: **Well, at least it hasn't been six months since my last update. I got distracted by the creation of my Etsy shop (selling my miniatures, finally!), and of course, school, but this story managed to stay stuck in my head until I finally did something about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Severus Snape**

Snow swirled around the bus stop shelter, wind whipping right through his thin jacket. The cold had almost numbed his limbs, but he still managed to jump two feet out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was only Hermione's cry that prevented him from revealing the knife that he gripped in his right hand. He hastily let it fall further into his pocket and brought his hands out into the cold.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing. Harry smiled and gave a breathy laugh, more from relief than from amusement.

"It's okay. What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"Catching the bus, obviously," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "This _is _a bus stop, you know." Harry gave her a playful shove.

"I thought you normally went home with your mom," Harry clarified.

"Oh! Yeah, it's my parents' anniversary, so it's, you know, date night. I wish I had my own car…" Hermione pouted. "And look at you! You're freezing in that jacket!" Harry just shrugged.

"It's not that bad," he lied, trying to control his shivering.

"Don't be stupid, Harry. Here, I know I have a spare hat in my backpack," his friend said, immediately dropping her pack and rummaging through it. Before Harry could even refuse she had stood and crammed a dark blue hat on his head.

"Really, 'Mione…"

"Just be glad it's not my pink one. I would make you wear it regardless," she said seriously. Harry sighed.

"Fine. I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

"No until you show me that you finally remembered your own," she bargained. Harry just smiled at her and gave up. He knew he wasn't able to win. "So how's it going with Draco?"

"What?" Harry asked, startled by the change in conversation. He looked down the street for his bus…it was late.

"You know, that hot blond you've been spending every waking moment with lately," she goaded. Harry blushed.

"Oh, yeah. Um…I don't know. I guess we're…dating?"

"Well I'm glad. I mean, it took you both long enough. You've been dancing around each other since the beginning of the year it seems!" she said, giving him a big smile. Harry blushed deeper. Up the street he saw a man and wife leave a shop arm in arm, and a young boy follow them. Across from the bus stop several window shoppers were gazing into a bakery. He turned back to his friend.

"Well, what about Blaise? I know I heard rumors a while back. You still like him?" Harry asked. The conversation felt odd to him. Too…normal. He rarely got a chance to talk about silly high school stuff like this, it felt. The past two weeks he had spent very little time with his friends outside of school. He carried his knives in his pockets everywhere he went, save his dance classes, and he always held one in the palm of his hand while walking to or from the dance shop. He had automatically reverted back to scanning crowds for danger, watching passerbys out of the corner of his eyes, tensing when strangers came too close. The paranoia was wearing on him, but it wasn't without reason. He had seen several black cars—Tom's cars—following him or pass by him on the streets. He saw them drive by Snape's house at night when he couldn't sleep and stayed up, looking out the window over the street. Death Eaters seemed to be crawling everywhere around Hogwarts. He saw them everywhere—although Harry wasn't sure if they weren't just normal people and his brain was on hyper-alert, inventing threats when there were none. He had been attacked twice by young Death Eaters, but Harry had fought them off easily. He hadn't seen Tom since the car ride a couple weeks ago, though. He had a feeling he wouldn't be so lucky in the coming week—Tom wasn't known to be patient. By now the head of the most feared gang in the state knew his pattern—knew when he went to school, when he got out, when he went to work, and when he left. If it weren't for his past experiences in Thirteenth, Harry would have felt as helpless as a kitten.

So now the carefree conversation with Hermione just felt odd. It was hard to ask questions about school crushes when a vain megalomaniac was out for his blood, or his body.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't really _know _him the way I wish I did. I think I'm just physically attracted to him; I don't know if our personalities would really click," Hermione replied. She began rambling about Draco's best friend, but Harry's attention was diverted by the window shoppers across the street who had turned around and were now openly staring at him. A man behind the Plexiglas bus stop walls was moving closer, and the boy that Harry had assumed was with the couple leaving the shop had stopped near the bus stop. _They could be anybody. Just shoppers. Normal people. _

But that didn't explain the cold feeling in his gut, or the way his hands reflexively slipped into his pockets in search of a weapon. The heavy knife was a comfort to his now sweaty palm.

"Harry? Harry, are you listening to me at all?" Hermione said, poking him lightly in the stomach. Harry flicked his gaze back to the window shoppers, who were now clearly waiting for a break in traffic so they could jaywalk across the street. He didn't recognize them, but that didn't matter. Tom had plenty of people he didn't know. The boy down the street and the man behind the bus stop were both wearing hoods that obscured their faces. Another bad sign. "_Harry! _Hel_-lo_," Hermione exclaimed.

Without taking his eyes off the boy who was now only half a block away from them, Harry leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"'Mione, I want you to smile and say that you realized you forgot your textbook in your locker. Then grab your backpack and run down the block and cross the street. Go back to the school and catch your bus at the stop on the other side of 10th."

"Harry, _what? _What are you—"

"Hermione, just do it. Don't ask questions. You need to get the hell out of here."

"This is ridiculous! I don't see—"

"_Hermione. _You need to get the _fuck _out of here. _Now!_" Harry hissed viciously. Hermione took a step back, surprised. "Say it," Harry reminded her.

"Um…You know…I think I left my math textbook in my locker. I…should go get it. I'll…"

"Okay! Bye Hermione, I'll see you tomorrow." He pushed her when she started walking away. The two window shoppers were crossing the street at a jog and the boy down the block was jogging towards him too. The man behind the bus stop was now leaning on the Plexiglas. Harry could feel his gaze. "Hermione, _run," _he hissed. Hermione gave him a terrified and confused glance, but she started running just in time. Confident that Hermione was at least safe for now, Harry bolted in the opposite direction, toward the young man coming at him. The young man stopped, but the other men ran at him full tilt. Harry took his hand with the knife out of his pocket and flicked it open, turning around just in time to duck at vicious-looking blade wielded by one of the window shoppers. Well, Harry knew now that they weren't window shoppers. They were Death Eaters.

He heard a scream from someone near but didn't pause, instead lunging at the second 'window shopper' to fend off an offensive attack. The man that had been behind the bus stop caught him with a rush and Harry fell to the ground, rolling to lessen the impact. More screams emitted from pedestrians and Harry saw people running away. Before one of his attackers could jump on him Harry picked himself up, slashing at one man's leg. His knife came away with blood on it.

"Fucking punk," the man yelled, stumbling away to inspect the damage. His spot was filled by the man with the big knife, and Harry ducked another stab and pivoted around the man. He plunged his own knife deep into the man's back until arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him back. The younger boy, Harry figured he was around his own age, tried to throw him to the ground but Harry managed to kick the inside of his knee hard enough to break it. The boy's arms immediately released him and Harry whirled around to smash his fist into the kid's jaw.

"Jesus," one of the other men hissed behind him, and Harry turned around to catch a punch to the stomach and a kick to his left leg which sent him flying. He couldn't help but cry out when he landed on the ground and the man with the knife slashed his arm badly. Harry saw the Death Eater recoil his fist and tried to squirm out of his grasp, but the man was kneeling on his chest. This was going to hurt.

His jaw didn't break, but Harry couldn't see anything for a good five seconds. His face hurt so bad he barely felt the second punch to his stomach. _Get up, Harry. Get up before they kill you. _Harry forced his eyes open and managed to move his head to the side when the man swung at him again. He heard the man's knuckles crunch when they hit the pavement, and Harry used the distraction to swing his left hand up and jab a finger into the man's eye. His attacker screamed and reeled back, allowing Harry to scramble away and grab his second knife from his left back pocket. He could hear sirens coming nearer—most likely someone had called 911. Hell, Hermione probably had.

The youngest of the Death Eaters had picked himself up off the ground and was stumbling away in obvious retreat. He was followed by the man who he had stabbed with his knife. The sirens came closer and Harry tried to push himself up, but a man grabbed him and yanked him to a standing position.

"Get the fuck up, boy. And don't let the pigs pick you up," the man hissed into his ear. Harry tore his arm out of the man's grip and shoved him back, hard.

"Stay the _fuck _away from me, you Death Eater piece of shit. And tell Tom the same thing," he snapped, backing away. The man was already moving in the direction of the others; Harry figured there was a car waiting somewhere.

"Little bird told me you have the same mark as the rest of us, so I'd be careful who you call a piece of shit," the man sneered, finally turning and running away. Harry heard the sirens turn a corner, then saw the police car swerve into view. Fuck fuck fuck. There was a crowd of people around him now, staring at him as if they were torn between helping him and running away. The cop pulled up by the curb, startling Harry into a run after he grabbed his knife from the ground and his backpack. People scattered in front of him but the street was just crowded enough to obscure any obvious escape route. He stopped, panicking as a police officer pushed his way through the crowd and began walking towards him.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? Let's just get you to a hospital—you're not—"

"_Harry! _Oh thank god!" Suddenly Hermione was by his side and pulling him back towards the bus stop. Harry stumbled with her and let her drag him onto whatever bus was waiting at the stop. It pulled into traffic before the two sat down. Harry slumped into his seat, gasping for air and trying to quell the shaking in his hands. He let his eyes fall closed. "Jesus Christ, Harry. What just happened? Who were those people? Did you _know _them?!" Hermione shrieked at him. Harry barely heard her over the din of the bus.

"I don't know what just happened, and I don't know those people."

"Did you know they were going to _attack you_?!"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"I don't understand."

"Look, 'Mione, I don't either. Okay. Maybe I just looked like an easy target. I'm small, skinny….You know."

"But where did you learn to _fight?_" Hermione asked, turning toward Harry and unzipping his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, slapping her hands away.

"Checking to make sure you aren't hurt. And you didn't answer me. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Who says I learned anywhere?" Harry answered. The adrenaline was rushing out of his system now. His stomach hurt, and his face _really _hurt, and his arm was bleeding pretty bad. Snape was going to be thrilled. "Look, I didn't grow up in some nice clean neighborhood, okay? You learn to watch your back where I'm from."

"I figured as much. We really need to get you fixed up. You're bleeding from somewhere, and half of your face looks like someone drew all over it with markers. _Jesus,_" she whispered. "Do you know how to get to Snape's? Which bus route goes by his house?"

"He's going to kill me, Hermione. Oh my god he's going to _kill _me."

"I live all the way across town from here, it'll take us forever to get there. And I know Snape lives on this side of town."

Harry dug a worn slip of paper out of a pocket on the inside of his jacket and handed it to Hermione. "This is Snape's address." Hermione took the piece of paper from him and pulled out her phone. Harry let her work her magic and went back to trying to relax into the hard plastic seat. Several minutes later he felt Hermione lean over him and tug the wire above the window, signaling that they would be getting off at the next stop.

"Here's your paper. We need to jump on a different bus, but I looked at all the intersecting routes and getting off here will only make us wait for ten minutes until the next bus," she explained. Harry let her pull him off the bus and into the cold without questions. His head was whirling with theories about Tom's strategy. All the different possibilities made his head hurt.

Half an hour later Hermione pulled Harry off the last bus in front of what she hoped was Snape's apartment. Harry looked ready to pass out: he was pale, his face swollen and bruised, and blood was seeping through his jacket. He hadn't said anything for the last few minutes. Wrapping her arm around Harry's waist she took some of his weight and propelled them to the door. Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked. Not thirty seconds later the door opened and Snape was staring down his long nose at her, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What a pleasure, Ms. Granger," he drawled, glancing to the boy that she was half-carrying. He had to force himself to keep his face expressionless. _What in hells name did Potter get himself into?_

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor, but Harry's really hurt, and I think he's going into shock—"

"I'm not in shock," Harry mumbled. Severus opened the door wider and ushered his students inside. Hermione managed to drag Harry inside the door before Snape took pity on her and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders, taking his weight.

"Ms. Granger, if you'll remove his shoes and jacket? I'm going to get my medical kit," Snape said, depositing Harry on the couch and quickly walking upstairs to his bathroom. He heard the girl get to work, talking to Harry all the while. When he returned with his first aid bag Hermione had her friend's shoes and jacket off, revealing several bruises on his arms and a nasty cut. Without prompting Hermione made her way into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water, while Snape inspected Harry's injuries.

"Are there any other injuries you know about? Are you hurt?" Snape asked without looking at Hermione.

"I'm fine, and I don't know if he's hurt anywhere else. He didn't tell me," she answered, setting the bowl of water down.

"Since you seem so comfortable rooting around my kitchen, why don't you go find the rags I keep under the sink?" Snape asked. Hermione blushed but did as he asked. "I'll also need the ice pack in the freezer and a clean dish towel—they're in the drawer next to the sink," he called. Hermione returned with all the requested items and Snape set to work icing Harry's face and cleaning his cut. Once he was satisfied that the boy wasn't going to die in his couch, the professor stood and beckoned Hermione into the kitchen. "I'm going to call you a cab, and while we wait, I want to know everything that happened," Snape explained, already dialing a number on his phone. A minute later a cab was on his way and Snape sat down at the kitchen table across from his student.

"Hermione? Snape?" Harry called from the living room.

"I'll be right out," Hermione called, at the same time that Snape snapped,

"Shut up, Potter. Ms. Granger, if you would explain what happened to my charge over there?" Snape asked again.

"I don't know much: I wasn't actually there for most of the fight. I was just talking to Harry at the bus stop near school when he really suddenly told me to leave. He was very serious about it, too, told me to run and not ask questions. There were these four guys that Harry was watching, and I ran as I saw them starting to run at Harry. People started screaming a minute later and I realized that those men had attacked Harry, so I called 911. I read in a book that a lot of times people don't call 911 if they think other people have the chance to do it, and so I called because I just couldn't assume someone else would and…"

"Back to Mr. Potter, please," Snape interrupted gently. Hermione looked down at her lap, wringing her hands.

"Right. The police came after a couple minutes but Harry ran away from the police and he looked stunned and panicked and really hurt, so I just grabbed him and got him on the bus. He didn't tell me anything except that he didn't know those people or why they attacked him," Hermione finished. "Is he in trouble?" Snape sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He had other things to deal with than a banged-up Harry Potter.

"I don't know. Thank you for explaining." There was a pause, and Snape could hear Potter attempting to move around on the couch. No doubt he was in a lot of pain.

"Professor? Harry, he's had a really hard life, hasn't he?" Hermione asked very softly. Severus was quiet a moment before he nodded.

"Yes, I dare say he has."

. . .

Harry had just managed to push himself into a sitting position when Hermione and Snape returned from the kitchen. Hermione gave him a quick hug and promised to come visit him tomorrow if he wasn't at school before she left. Snape walked her to the door, gave her money for the ride home—which Harry thought was very kind of him—and then shut the door when she was gone. He turned to face Harry, giving him a long, hard stare. Harry was pretty sure his life flashed before his eyes.

"_What _have you gotten yourself into?" Snape demanded, stalking across the room toward him. Harry shrank back into the sofa at his approach, but he kept his eyes on Snape in case the man totally lost it.

"I…I was just attacked! I didn't do anything," he stammered. Suddenly Snape's face was two inches from his own, his teacher's black eyes boring holes into his head.

"Do not lie to me, Potter. Do not be so _stupid _as to think I haven't noticed your recent paranoia, let alone the unexplained injuries you find yourself with several times a week." Harry's eyes widened. Snape had never seemed to notice when he came home from work with new bruises or scrapes. The man had never asked about them. "ANSWER ME!" Harry gasped for air, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach, face, and arm and suppress panic. Snape could never find out. He would be immediately expelled from Hogwarts for gang activity, he would be back on the streets, he would fall right into Tom's hands.

"I…It's nothing. I've just been going through Thirteenth to get back here. It's…rough there right now," he lied.

"Did I not…_just_…instruct you to…not…_lie_…to…me," Snape spat between his teeth. Harry looked away but his teacher grabbed his chin and forced him to look up again. Harry sighed.

"I can't tell you!"

"And why not?"

"Because everything is really _fucked _up and you don't want to be involved, and I'd be expelled from Hogwarts and have to live on the streets and then everything would be even _worse! _That's why I can't tell you!" Harry yelled. Snape let out a forceful exhale and pushed himself away from his student, pacing to the other side of the room. When he turned around again Harry was on his feet, but behind the sofa. His eyes were darting to the back door.

"Potter, _Harry," _Snape said slowly. "You need to calm down, and don't even think of running out that door. Take a deep breath. I am not going to hurt you, and I will stay on this side of the room while we talk, if that would make you more comfortable. But we need to talk. I think I deserve to know what's going on, and I may be able to help you." Harry rolled his eyes.

"You can't help me," he said. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Harry, I know what you have been through. I have had many similar experiences growing up—trust me."

"You don't know anything!" Harry yelled. "You can't! You're a teacher at the best school in the city, you went to college, you…you live here!" the dancer exclaimed, motioning around the house.

"I worked hard to get through college, and I made a lot of mistakes that I will forever regret. I can help you avoid those mistakes," Snape said calmly.

"What are you even talking about? What mistakes?" Harry asked, confused. He brought a trembling hand up to his tender face, feeling the swollen tissue and wincing. Snape held his hands up and approached the couch.

"You need to keep that ice pack on your face if you want to keep the swelling down," he explained, taking the pack off the couch and holding it out to the skittish teen. Harry grabbed it, but immediately backed away after. "Look, Harry. I'll tell you about my mistakes, and if you think that I may have an idea of what you're going through, then you have to talk to me, okay? Deal?" he offered. Harry looked hesitant, and Snape waited patiently. After several minutes Harry opened his mouth.

"Deal," he whispered. Severus barely heard him.

"All right. Take some clean clothes upstairs and shower. We'll talk over dinner," Severus said, giving Harry another long look before turning around and going into the kitchen to start dinner. "Does Italian sound good?" he asked.

"Um. Yeah, sure," Harry replied in a halting voice. Snape had never asked him what he wanted for dinner before, or even checked if he liked something. This nice Snape was a little disarming, he decided. Not wanted to test the man too much Harry did as he was told, gathering some clean clothes and going upstairs to shower.

Harry entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later, and Severus turned away from the stove to look at him.

"I'm just simmering an alfredo sauce. It should be finished in ten minutes or so. I'd like to take a better look at your arm before we eat. If you would sit down?" Snape requested. Harry obediently sat down, too drained to do anything but what his teacher told him to. The man pulled the other chair around and sat next to Harry, pulling his medical kit across the table towards them. "Knife, I presume?" Severus asked quietly. Harry bit his lip but nodded. The shower had caused the long cut to start bleeding again, and even Snape's gentle fingers caused pain. "It needs stitches, if you want to minimize scarring and have it heal quickly. I dare say you've missed enough dance classes in the past month, miss too many more and you ensure you won't be in the recital at the end of the year." Harry rolled his eyes.

"I don't care about the recital," he said.

"No? I know for a fact many of your teachers had hoped to include you in their pieces," Severus mentioned.

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. His teacher nodded.

"But about your arm…would you allow me to stitch it for you?"

"You know how?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't know what I was doing. I have had a lot of practice," the chemist answered vaguely. Harry nodded.

"Fine." Snape brought his hand up slowly and turned Harry's head to look at the bruising. The swelling would be almost gone by morning, but the bruising would still be dark, especially because Harry seemed to bruise so easily.

"Let me turn the sauce off, unless you'd rather wait until after dinner?" Harry shook his head, so Severus turned the stove off and opened his kit, finding his curved needle and stitching thread. Harry sat silent while Severus sewed up the four inch cut on the outside of Harry's upper arm. He never flinched or cried out, indeed, he remained completely still and didn't complain at all. Snape had expected no less.

It took the chemist twenty minutes to properly sterilize and then stitch Harry's wound. Finally he cut the last stitch and went to throw the needle out.

"Does it feel all right?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks, I guess."

"Let's talk. And eat," Severus suggested, returning to the stove to turn it on and warm the sauce again. Harry jumped up from the table to help, and Severus handed him a plate to serve himself pasta on. Harry took the hint and served himself, setting the plate on the counter while they waited for the sauce to heat. Severus served his own pasta and set it next to Harry's plate. "I might as well tell you a bit about myself, but mind, I expect you to do the same when I'm finished." Harry looked away. "To put it plainly, my father beat me when I was little. He was an alcoholic. We lived in Twelfth District" Harry couldn't hide the shock on his face. "I worked three jobs, did well in school, and tried to pay for college with scholarships. But the funding for my scholarship program was cut after I was only a year in. I had to drop out and move back in with my father. It was an…uncomfortable year." Snape's eye flickered down to the floor, and a picture of him as a young, abused teen popped into Harry's head. "Desperate to resume my education, I began…mixing with the wrong crowd. I joined a gang, with the agreement that the gang would pay for, and allow me, to finish school. I ran with them for six years; even after I graduated I worked for them. I was in my late twenties when it was decided my debt was paid," Harry knew there was more to the story, but didn't interrupt Snape's abbreviated storytelling. "Then I began my teaching career. Worked at several different schools around the city, and in neighboring cities. I was loath to return here, but it's hard to pass up a job at the best school in the state," the chemist gave a half smile. Harry didn't know what to say, so he said so. "Deal's a deal," Snape mentioned.

"Right," Harry mumbled. Severus continued talking while he spooned sauce onto their plates and handed Harry's back to him. Harry took his plate and sat down at the table. "I don't know where to start. It seems like it's a long story." Snape shrugged, and Harry marveled at how human the movement made him seem. He almost smiled.

"We have all night."

"It's a school night," Harry protested weakly.

"Then you best start talking sooner rather than later," Snape said dryly, taking a bite of his dinner.

"I still don't think you should know."

"What are you concerned about?" Harry sighed.

"I don't want to be expelled. I know I don't have a perfect record, and I know that I could probably be expelled for some of the things I've gotten myself into. But Hogwarts is my only chance to get out of…this place," Harry said. He tried not to tear up, but the realizations were painful and the possibilities of expulsion never seemed so real.

"Harry, look at me," Snape softly requested. Harry managed to drag his eyes upward to meet his teacher's. "I told you once before that if you chose to confide in me I would hold everything confidential. That still stands. You don't have to fear expulsion at my hand." Harry dropped his gaze. "Do you have other reasons for not wanting to confide?"

"I…I don't want you….to get in trouble. For knowing, or…I don't know. I just don't want anyone else involved," he mumbled, stabbing his food with his fork.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Potter. You on the other hand, seem like you could some assistance, being that you keep coming home looking like you got hit by a car," Severus drawled. "Please, Harry, tell me. I'll do everything in my power to help. I promise you," he finished. Harry blinked furiously, the kind words only encouraging his tears. He wiped angrily at his face.

"Someone is feeding information about me to…the person who is causing problems for me. How do I know it's not you?" Harry asked, his gaze flicking upwards for a moment. Snape sighed and put is fork down, moving slowly around the table and kneeling down next to Harry.

"Harry, I am not giving information to anyone. I paid dearly to leave the gang life behind: nothing, _nothing, _could make me return to it. I have nothing to do with any of that anymore. I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"It's hard," Harry admitted, pushing his plate away and holding his head in his hands, careful not to push too hard on his bruises and swollen jaw.

"I know. It always is," Severus replied quietly, returning to his place at the table. They sat in silence for almost five minutes until Harry opened his mouth and began talking.

"When I was little, about eight or so, I spent a lot of time on the streets. Aunt Petunia would lock me out of the house and I would wander. It's how I met my best friends, Ron, Fred, and George Weasley. When I was ten I was mugged by a group of gang members. The leader of a rival gang intervened and probably saved my life. He told me that his protection would come with a price, but I was too young to understand. Months later he found me again and asked me to do a favor for him. Somehow things just led on and I became his drug runner. I was more of a _pet, _now that I think about it," Harry spat angrily. "I left the gang before I turned thirteen. I had started to get in fights with other members of the gang, and finally the leader just…let me go. I just walked away. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy." He rubbed his eyes hard. "He came back a few weeks ago and made it very clear that I'm expected to sign up again. I told him to fuck off, but there's people following me, and jumping me almost every day. I've been dragged into cars and beaten up and tattooed and it's only getting worse!" Harry choked out. He couldn't bring himself to look back up at his teacher.

Snape couldn't help but sympathize with the young boy in front of him. Albus had told him several times that he and Harry were very similar, and that was all-too-clear now.

"Harry, what gang are you talking about?" Snape breathed. He thought of the flecks of the black paint on Harry's face that day months ago, and the mentioned of being tattooed. He almost didn't have to ask, but it would be better if he could Harry to volunteer the information. Harry took a deep breath.

"The Death Eaters."

Severus' jaw clenched as he mentally cursed Tom Riddle to hell and back.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Love it? Hate it? Please let me know—nothing inspires me more than your comments.

Wykkyd


	26. Recruit

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, associated plotlines, or characters.

**A/N: **Well, it's summertime now so I'm going to finish this story in the next two months if it kills me. You all (whoever is still out there reading this) have been with me for YEARS, and I love you all for it. Every one of your reviews inspired me to write a little more of this chapter. It's not my best, but I'm going to get this story back on track and wrap it all up. Enjoy!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Recruit**

It wasn't a surprise to Harry when he woke with his face pressed into a leather seat and his hands tied roughly behind his back. He sighed and tried to move into a less vulnerable position, but a hand came down on his back and held him in place.

"No bother getting up, Harry," Tom said. Harry grit his teeth. "This is getting all-too familiar, really. When will you just give in? It would be so much easier for you." Harry didn't reply. "Well, in any case, we're headed to one of my favorite homes. I'm sure you'll come to like it." Harry jerked his head up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"What?" he choked out. "Are you fucking kidnapping me?" Tom laughed.

"Temporarily, perhaps. You'll get to go back to dearest Severus in a few days. First, I need to prepare you to be my date at a ball on Thursday night. You'll need to meet your future henchmen, to put it frankly, as well as one of our greatest investors," the man said. Harry clenched his eyes shut.

"You sure have a fucked up way of recruiting. You always beat everyone into submission? Ever just ask nicely?" he snapped. Tom laughed, but the sound made Harry feel even sicker than he did already.

"Nice doesn't work in this field, I'm sorry to say. And I have to say, the bruise coloring suits you. So, about your little holiday with me. You get to follow me around, see what the life is like, and of course, be my date on Thursday. If all goes well, and if you don't cause too much trouble, you can go back to school on Friday. And back to Severus'," Tom sneered. "That is, if you want to." That came with a smile.

"You're not keeping me out of school. That is the _only thing I have left," _Harry spat out, aware that he sounded far more desperate than he desired to. Tom's smile was even wider, and he leaned over Harry to whisper in the teen's ear.

"Well, now you have me," he hissed. Harry yelled, an almost primal sound of frustration and anger and fear, slamming his head into Tom's nose. The gang lord recoiled with a shout, holding his nose, which was starting to bleed. "You little fucker." Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn't even afraid. He should be. He was horizontal in Tom's car, hands tied behind his back. And he had just tried to break the nose of the most powerful criminal in the city, if not the entire coast. But he wasn't afraid. He was angry. "_Stop the car," _Tom shouted to the driver. The car swerved and braked so suddenly Harry slid off the seat and crashed to the floor, face down, wedged between the front and back seats. The car stopped and the door near his head opened and hands grabbed his shirt, literally dragging him out of the car and along the sidewalk. The grit on the cement dug into his cheek, tearing at the soft flesh until he was roughly flipped over. Two Death Eaters flanked Tom, whose face was smeared with blood, Harry noted with satisfaction. The leader knelt down on the ground and grabbed Harry's chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I will make you millions. I will give you power, fame, and fortune, even if I have to _beat it into you." _Harry saw Tom's fist recoil, but was still able to only partially brace for the swift punch to his stomach. Wind rushed from his lungs as Tom recoiled again. Knuckles connected with his jawbone, then his cheek. Stomach. Chest. Nose. Eye. Jaw. Again. Again. Cheek. Again. Again. Again…_again…_

…

His breath rattled in his lungs. The gargling noise filled his ears and was all he could focus on. He thought he might be on a floor. It was cold. Blood was crusted on his face. Everything hurt.

…

Someone had set a glass of water near his head. He tried to get it, but his hands wouldn't move.

…

Someone was pouring water into his mouth. He choked on it before remembering to swallow. He couldn't breathe through his noise. Swallowing hurt. Everything hurt. It was dark.

…

Now he wasn't wearing any clothes. The floor was rough. Dirt. He could feel small rocks digging into him.

…

He was in a different room. On a bed. But he didn't hurt as much. Harry took a deep breath and released it before opening his eyes fully.

"Hello, Potter," a deep voice said from the other end of the room. The lights snapped on, revealing someone Harry didn't recognize.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snapped, pushing himself into a sitting position. The man's eyes raked over his naked torso unappreciatively.

"You are a scrawny kid. Don't know what Riddle even sees in you. But I'm Anthony." Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm also your new body guard." Good god. Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his mouth. Tom got him a body guard.

"That's ironic, considering the person who kidnapped me, beat the living fuck out of me, left me for god knows how long in a fucking _dungeon, _and then sticks me _here _was Tom Fucking Riddle. The only person I seem to need protecting from is that motherfucker!" he screamed. Anthony gave a wry smile and grabbed a stack of clothes off the dresser near the door.

"Unfortunately for you, Riddle is the only person I'm not protecting you from. But you'll be able to talk with him about it soon enough: he wants to see you in half an hour." The clothes were tossed into Harry's chest. "Put 'em on, tidy up. I'll be back to get you in twenty minutes."

"Fuck you," Harry spat, grabbing the clothes.

"We may get along after all. Just don't get in too much trouble in the next twenty minutes."

The man left, and Harry tossed the clothes on the bed. All black, high quality, simple v-neck t-shirt and slacks. Harry sighed. They probably fit him perfectly. Far better than his current state of undress. Wincing with pain, Harry tugged the black shirt over his bruised torso before sliding off the bed. His vision and balance waivered in the standing position, but eventually Harry was able to stand without support from the bed and he slid into the pants. They did fit him perfectly, and it bothered him that Tom had gone to such trouble. With fifteen minutes left until his bodyguard returned to fetch him, Harry practiced walking. His legs ached, but after a few strolls around the room it wasn't such a problem. His ribs hurt like a bitch, though, and it seemed like he had multiple pulled or torn muscles in his arms and neck. On his stroll around the room Harry came upon a mirror and several toiletries. He took the chance to tame his hair, wash his face, and brush his teeth, before really scrutinizing his own reflection. He was pale, still thin, with bruises on his cheekbones and forehead. His neck was unscathed, but the rather deep v-neck displayed the purple discoloration that covered his chest. The back of the shirt drifted just low enough to display the top part of the tattoo marking his back. Harry sneered at its image in the mirror.

Aside from the evidence of Tom's brutal beating, Harry could admit to himself that the clothes suited him, and he looked pretty handsome, in an edgy, dangerous sort of way. The style was reminiscent of Tom's own personal style.

Sighing, Harry turned and went back to the bed to wait. He wondered what Severus was doing now that Harry had been missing for some time. How long exactly? Harry wondered what day it was, and how long he had been unconscious. What was Draco doing? Images of Draco's tall and lean, but effortlessly toned body and immaculate complexion drifted into his head. The feeling of the blonde's passionate lips was all-to-easy to remember, and Harry found himself desperately missing Draco: his lips, his arms around him, the feeling of Draco's hardening cock against his own.

Becoming aroused, Harry tore his train of thought away from the blonde and back to his current situation, which was far more sobering. The door opening interrupted his thoughts, and Anthony ducked his head in.

"Follow me," he commanded, and Harry obediently got up from the bed and walked over to the door.

"Do I even get shoes?" he asked dryly. Anthony nodded and pointed near Harry's feet, where there were a pair of black socks and black leather shoes. Harry put them on, not bothering to hurry at all.

"Sore?" Anthony asked. Harry figured he was trying to be nice and make conversation, but he didn't much appreciate the attempt. He shrugged.

"What's it matter?" Anthony seemed to take the hint and led Harry through the halls in silence. They passed only a few other people, some of which Harry figured were Death Eaters, some of which just seemed like corrupted business men in Tom's pocket. Harry couldn't help but smirk at them, almost enjoying how their eyes immediately dropped to the floor and they hurried their pace. He remembered doing the same thing when he ran with Tom years ago.

The walk only last ten minutes, before Anthony stopped and jerked his head in the direction of two large, ornate wooden doors. "In," he commanded. Harry rolled his eyes, trying to appear confident when he placed his bruised and scraped hands on the doors and pushed hard. They swung open to reveal what he assumed was Tom's private rooms, which were currently empty, meaning Harry would have to wait. He rolled his eyes. Tom's little power plays didn't impress him.

The room contained a king-sized bed, draped in black, in the corner. The opposite corner contained an office of some sort, with a desk and two large armchairs facing it. In another corner of the massive room a couch sat facing a giant TV screen mounted on the wall. Harry noticed the screen could also be seen from the bed. Near the two armchairs near Tom's desk was a small table with a carafe of amber liquid. Assuming it was alcohol, Harry walked over to it and helped himself after righting a glass that lay near the carafe. His first sip confirmed his alcohol suspicion with relief. The light streaming through the windows made him believe it was morning, but he didn't care.

"I'm going to turn you into a regular alcoholic if this keeps up," a smooth tenor voice said. Harry turned around, glass in hand, to see Tom standing near a second door in the room, smiling. Tom was dressed in a similar getup as himself: black slacks and shoes, but with a black collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Good morning, Harry. Feeling better?" Harry shrugged.

"Sure, Tom."

"Excellent. Shirt off, let me have a look," Tom commanded, walking over to Harry. When Harry made no move to do as he said, Tom took the glass from Harry's hands and grabbed the bottom of his shirt himself.

"Hands off, Tom. Just because I'm in your bedroom doesn't mean you can demand to see me naked any time you like," Harry snapped, taking a step back. Tom grabbed his wrists firmly, and met Harry's defiant gaze with his own calm one.

"Actually, Harry, I can. So you can either take it off yourself, or I'll do it for you. If you're good, we can have breakfast after." Harry snarled at him, jerking his wrists out of the man's grip. His eyes snapped to the door and back to Tom, who stood with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Sighing in defeat, Harry yanked the shirt over his head quickly and tried not to violently cringe when his ribs screamed in pain. Once the shirt was completely off Tom moved forward, daring Harry to back away with his eyes. The teen rolled his eyes and stayed put, flinching when Tom placed his hands on his bruised ribs and felt around them. Tom's strong hands slid over his ribs and up to his pectorals, then to his collarbone. Harry turned around when Tom directed him to, feeling the hands slide over his shoulders and down to his ribs, pressing on the various bruises that felt worse. "Ribs must hurt pretty badly," Tom muttered, pressing on them. Harry exhaled sharply, confirming Tom's statement. "Probably cracked quite a few."

"So you want me half naked so you can feel me up, is that it?" Harry snapped. Tom laughed, pulling Harry's back against his chest suddenly, strong arms circling around to his front. One drifted up to his throat, the other went lower, Tom's fingers just barely tucked into the front of his slacks. Harry tensed at the intimacy.

"_This _is what it will feel like when I feel you up. I'm sure even you can notice the difference," Tom whispered right into Harry's ear, tongue flicking out to lick along the dancer's outer-ear. Harry shuddered.

"Get off me, Tom," he said, to which Tom laughed.

"As you wish. Let's have breakfast," the gang leader announced, removing his wandering hands and leaving Harry to put his shirt back on. Tom opened the large doors to his room and spoke to someone out of Harry's line of sight. Moments later Tom returned to Harry's side and waved towards one of the armchairs, taking a seat in the other. Harry obediently sat down, waiting for Tom to speak.

"So welcome to my house," he began suddenly. "We're on the third floor, which is restricted to members of my personal group of bodyguards, myself, and you. The floor is mostly comprised of bedrooms, an entertainment room, my personal office, and my personal meeting room. The floor below is primarily meeting rooms and conference rooms, the first floor is the kitchen, dining room, great room, and formal dining room, and the basement is a large meeting room for all my Death Eaters, as well as a row of cells which you're by now intimately acquainted with. There's a small gym down there as well. I made sure to put up some larger mirrors and clear floorspace for you."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You…what?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Like I _just _said…"

"Floor space for me to dance?"

"Don't interrupt. But yes, for you to practice. There's already a nice sound system in there. I just ask that you be careful when venturing down to the basement. It is, after all, available openly to all my followers, many of which do not know of you and have no reason to respect you. The gym door locks, however, with a password that I'll give to you. I assume you will want to dance in private." Harry shrugged. A light knock sounded through the room, and the large door open to reveal a small woman holding a tray laden with dishes.

"Breakfast, Mr. Riddle." The man waved her into the room and she set the tray down on the desk, moving to unload it and set places for Harry and Tom to eat. Tom shook his head.

"We'll set places ourselves. You're dismissed." The woman nodded and left the room swiftly, and Tom handed Harry a plate of food. Harry accepted it along with a fork and began picking at the pancakes and eggs. "Please, Harry. I know you're starving, no use pretending to eat with the manners of a bird for now. There will be a time for that later, such as tomorrow at the party."

"It's already Wednesday?"

"Yes. You spent most of Monday being beaten to a pulp by me, and then most of Tuesday in various states of unconsciousness. We'll spend the rest of today getting you ready for tomorrow night, as I have business to attend to tomorrow."

"Getting me ready? What?" Harry said around a mouthful of food.

"You're in desperate need of a trim, and I'm having my tailor come in a couple hours to fit you for a proper suit. And then we'll go over your dancing skills. I'll not have my date looking like a street punk."

"I don't want a trim: I want to grow my hair out," Harry blurted out, surprising himself. He had never wanted to grow his hair out, but the contrarian in him jumped at the chance to protest anything Tom suggested or demanded. Tom gave him a hard stare.

"You could pull that off well. Nevertheless, a trim will help it grow out better, so you'll still get a trim. Any other complaints?" he asked with amusement. Harry thought.

"I don't need dance lessons. I know how to dance," he mentioned. Tom laughed.

"Ballroom dance? Waltzing…"

"Swing, foxtrot, even the fucking tango. I'm a god damn dancer, Tom, in case you forgot."

"I didn't. Keep eating," Tom waved at Harry's half eaten plate and the dancer returned to his breakfast, stabbing his bacon viciously. "I'm also having your tattoo touched up. Monday's lesson didn't do anything for the healing process, and I'm afraid quite a lot of ink is going to lift." Harry glared. "I would have liked to do it before Thursday evening, but there's not enough time. So next week, certainly."

"But I'll get to go back to school? And not live here?" Tom looked at him hard.

"School yes. And you can go back to Severus' soon."

"How soon?" Tom laughed, then.

"So eager to leave, Harry. Really, is that snarky professor really better than this?" he waved his hand around the lavish room. Harry rolled his eyes.

"At least I'm not a prisoner there," he snapped, setting his finished plate down. Tom cocked his head to the side for a moment, a small smile on his face.

"You need to get your weight up, too," he commented. "You're emaciated." Harry shrugged.

"It's getting better. You know, regular meals and everything."

"Your uncle was a piece of shit."

"So are you," Harry said dryly, leaning back in his chair. Tom's eyes flashed for a moment, but Harry knew he wasn't in any danger. Overall, the gang lord seemed to be in a relatively good mood, and Harry felt himself relaxing slightly. A quiet beep alerted Tom to a new message on his phone, which he glanced at.

"My hair stylist is here for you. I'll have him trim your hair in your room." Harry ran a hand through his scraggly black hair, and Tom stood, motioning for Harry to stay seated. The man walked around Harry's chair and slid his hands through the black locks. Harry immediately tensed, but didn't try and pull away. Tom moved his hair back and forth.

"Ever thought about highlights? No. You have such a rich black…best to keep it that way. You are gorgeous, you know, Harry," Tom mused, under his breath. Harry didn't say anything. "Stunning. That dark hair, pale skin, such a slight frame. It's no wonder Draco Malfoy can't take his eyes off you."

"What do you know about Draco?!" Harry snapped, jerked his head away. Tom just laughed.

"You have a lot to learn in the next few months, but I may as well break the biggest news first. Draco's father and I are quiet close, actually. Lucius is kind enough to finance quite a few of my ventures." Harry couldn't help the whoosh of air that rushed from his lungs. "But who am I to get in the way of your pathetic high school relationship," Tom drawled. "He's not my informant, so you can relax. He does, however, know that his father has some very shady dealings with the local underworld. But what's a kid to do?" Tom hissed into Harry's ear. "Just remember, tomorrow night, you are _my _date, not Draco's. You go anywhere near him without my permission and Draco will only be dragged into all this. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Harry pursed his lips, refusing to give Tom the satisfaction of an affirmation. He was still shocked to learn that Draco knew that his father was dealing with gangs. But then, Draco didn't seem close with Lucius at all, so Harry took marginal comfort in that. Draco hadn't sold him out. _He wouldn't do that, _Harry told himself.

Tom smacked the back of his head lightly. "Get up. Let's get your hair fixed." Harry stood numbly and followed Tom from the room. As soon as they had left Tom's quarters Harry saw Anthony following them down the hall.

…..

"It's been _three days, _Sev!"

"I know, Draco."

"How are you so fucking _calm _about all this? Do you even care!?" Draco shouted, waving his arms. Severus glared at him and slammed the door to his office shut. No use in the rest of the school hearing his godson's outburst.

"Calm yourself, Draco. And I don't appreciate you accusing me of not caring about the boy. I practically offered to adopt him."

"And yet you refuse to allow anyone to call the police. That's what people do when people go missing," Draco hissed, his eyes sparkling with fury Severus knew was not truly aimed at him. The chemistry professor walked over to Draco, placing hands on his shoulders and forcing him into the chair across from his desk. Then he took his own seat, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the desk.

"Draco," he began, "If I tell you what I know, I cannot tell you here. And you cannot act on what I tell you." Draco scowled.

"What the fuck?"

"Language," Severus scolded. "Come to my house after school. I'll tell you what I can. And _don't _tell your father." Draco's eyes widened.

"What's Lucius got to do with any of this?" Severus sighed.

"I don't know yet." He turned to his computer, giving Draco a dismissive last glance. The boy pursed his lips in frustration but finally stood, grabbing his violin case and leaving the office. Snape watched him go. He didn't want to risk getting Draco in the middle of any of this, any more than he already was as Harry's boyfriend, or whatever they were now. That Lucius was financially entangled with the very man that was likely keeping Harry complicated the issue for Draco.

Hours later Draco impatiently waited in his own car in Severus's driveway, waiting for his godfather to come home. He noticed his knee was bouncing…a nervous habit that his father hadn't quite been able to rid him of.

He had known something was very wrong when Severus called him around midnight on Monday, asking where Harry was. The man had assumed the dancer had been with Draco all night, Draco had assumed Harry had been at home with Severus. Shortly after clearing up the misunderstanding Severus hung up rather abruptly, but not before Draco heard him utter a choked curse. Draco didn't sleep at all that night, his mind racing.

Where was Harry? Had he gone back to his uncle's place? Had he just run away from it all? Severus seemed worried on the phone, which didn't bode well at all. Something more serious was at play. Draco's suspicions were doubly validated when Severus refused to talk about Harry's disappearance in his school office. The rest of the students, including Harry and Draco's friends, were all told Harry was at Severus's house, extremely ill. Severus would make himself scarce around lunch in order to make students believe he had run home to check on his patient. The teachers knew the truth, though: Harry was missing. And with his background in Thirteenth District, "missing" often meant dead.

Draco took a shaky breath and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to make them stop tearing up. _Calm down. Hysterics won't help Harry. _A sharp rap on his window got his attention. Severus was home. He followed his godfather into the house and settled down at the kitchen table, watching silently as the man went about making a pot of coffee.

"I need to ask you some questions, and I don't care if Harry has sworn you to silence, you _will _answer them if you know the answer," Severus said. His voice was sharp and serious.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied quietly. When the coffee pot was rumbling and dripping liquid into its glass container, Severus sat down opposite Draco at the table.

"Tell me about all the times you've noticed Harry acting strangely. I need dates and times. Acting especially jumpy, or happy, or depressed. Talking about his home life, uncomfortable…anything." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Sev, Harry's _always _jumpy, and normally depressed, and…I don't know. I've never noticed…wait." Draco thought back to the night he had gone to visit Harry at the school, only to find that Harry had snuck out, in the pouring rain, and stayed out for hours. Severus's black eyes seemed like they were looking into his soul. The blond shook his head. "The night that Harry slept at the school, when you came over for dinner. I went back to the school late that night to visit Harry, and snuck in. Harry wasn't there, and I waited for at least an hour before I fell asleep. Harry came back early in the morning, soaking wet. He was freezing. I made him go take a shower, but when he came back down he was pale and shaking. He tried to act normally, but I knew something was wrong. He never said what, though." Severus 'hmmm'ed.

He would bet anything Harry had seen Tom that night. But did he go looking for him?

"Why did he say he left the school?" Severus asked.

"Just said he needed some air. To clear his head." The tall man nodded to himself.

"Has Harry ever mentioned someone named Tom Riddle?" Severus asked plainly. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"I know that name…" he whispered under his breath. "Doesn't he…does my father work with him? Why would Harry know Mr. Riddle?"

"You do not want to know the answer to either of those questions, trust me. I would advise you stay far away from that man whenever possible. Is there anything else about Harry you should mention?" Severus said sharply. Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn't comment, just shook his head.

"No, Sev. I don't know. I just…I'm worried." The chemistry professor sighed.

"I know. And I won't lie to you: you should be worried." Draco looked down with a furrowed brow, and Severus rose to pour two cups of coffee from the coffee maker.

"You know where is his, don't you?" Draco asked, accepting his cup with a nod of thanks. The older man remained standing, leaning against the countertop.

"I have an idea, yes. But there is nothing I, or anyone, can do to help him if I am right," he said solemnly. Draco scowled even more.

"Severus? Where is he?" the teen asked cautiously. The professor shook his head.

"I cannot tell you, and although I recognize you are concerned, I must ask that you do not go looking for answers outside this house. Harry plays a dangerous game, and the best way you can help him is to _not get involved," _Severus emphasized. Draco sighed.

"But, Sev…"

"No, Draco. I am quite serious."

"So we're just going to leave him? Forget about him? Let him rot with whoever took him or is keeping him or whatever?!" Draco exclaimed, pushing his coffee away in frustration.

"No! But there is little we can do to help him, and even less than you can do. Please have patience. And do not tell _anyone _about this conversation." Draco nodded.

"Father wanted me to remind you about tomorrow's party," Draco said glumly. Severus rolled his eyes.

"I have already politely refused the offer, as Lucius well knows. It is a busy time of year at school, I have work to attend to outside of frivolous parties." Draco rose, understanding that their conversation was coming to an end. He shrugged.

"I will relay the response, then," he said with a quirk of his lips. Severus nodded with his own half smile.

"Please remember what I asked of you, Draco. It is not only for Harry that you not get involved, but also for your own safety." Draco stared at his godfather for a long time before nodding sharply and walking out of the kitchen, exiting the house moments later. A cold feeling had spread throughout his body. What was Harry doing? What was this 'dangerous game' he was playing at?

* * *

I always love reading your reviews, even if I don't respond to them personally. Also, feel free to toss out ideas, scenes you want to see in this story…whatever!

The Wykkyd


	27. Malfoy Manor

**Disclaimer: **I do not have or claim any rights to Harry Potter and associated plotlines. See J.K. Rowling for that.

**A/N: **Hello devoted and amazing readers! I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to all your kind reviews. Instead, I spent the time writing this! Many of you were excited for what would happen at the party, so I hope this doesn't disappoint!

* * *

**Thirteenth to Fifth**

**Malfoy Manor**

Harry ripped his tie off as soon as he stepped foot in the manor—Malfoy manor, as Tom had told him so many times. He was also told to not looking like a wide-eyed gapping teenager all night, so Harry made sure to restrain his impulse to look around wide-eyed and enchanted. _God, and Draco lives here?! _Tom put a deceptively gentle hand on his lower back and led him further into the grand ballroom, which was already teeming with what Harry imagined were the wealthiest and most powerful individuals in the city. The sneer on his face didn't even have to be faked.

"The tie?" Tom whispered in his ear. Harry shrugged and tossed it into an overly-ornate trash can.

"It's uncomfortable, and I look like a tool. You don't have one on." Tom's hand snaked further around his waist, holding Harry close to his side.

"Don't forget, Harry dear, tonight, you are…"

"…your date, not Draco's." Harry finished. He dropped his head. Tom squeezed the dancer's side once before his hand slipped lower, grazing his ass. Harry jumped forward. "If you don't want me to make a scene, _Tom," _Harry sneered "you're going to have to stop treating me like your whore. Being your second-in-command or whatever is one thing, being your fuck toy is another, and I will _die _before that happens." Tom laughed out loud.

"I love your temper," he snickered, gently pushing Harry away. "Meet me in fifteen minutes by the grandfather clock. I'm going to parade you in front of everyone tonight. Are you ready?" Harry nodded, shoving his hands in his pocket as he surveyed the room. There were five doors, two which led to a large balcony overlooking some sort of massive yard with a fountain in it. Harry had to pretend not to be impressed on the way in. The other three doors led to other rooms or hallways, but Harry didn't know where, save for the doors he had just walked through. Along one side of the room was a long buffet table, and along another wall there were many café tables for people to sit and eat at. In the opposite corner of the ballroom a small orchestra played softly.

Harry nodded to Tom and drifted off into the crowd. People were everywhere, bumping into him, smiling at him and touching him to get his attention. It took everything in him to not flinch and jump at every jostle. Taking a deep breath Harry began looking at the people, desperately trying to find Draco, or Snape. Would Snape even be here? Would he risk running into Tom again just to see Harry? The teen didn't think so; in Snape's shoes he would have stayed far away. Draco, on the other hand, must be somewhere.

"Harry! Harry is that you?" Harry whirled around, smiling when he recognized Blaise pushing people out of the way. The taller boy grabbed Harry's shoulders affectionately.

"God half the school thinks—what the fuck happened to you?!" Slender hands cupped Harry's face, dragging it upward so Blaise could see better. Harry couldn't help his flinch this time.

"It was just a fight that I accidentally got in the middle of. It's not as bad as it looks. Happened yesterday," Harry lied, stepping away and forcing the older boy to drop his hand.

"Well it looks terrible. Should you even be here? That looks like it needs to be iced or something." Harry forced a laugh through his lips.

"It was iced yesterday. It just needs some time to heal, now." He smiled, and hoped it didn't look as fake as it was. Blaise seemed to be convinced though, sparing only one more concerned look before carrying on.

"Like I was saying, half the school thinks you're dead! You haven't been in school since Monday, and everyone's saying you're really sick! Is that true?"

"I'm only just better, actually. I don't know what I caught, but school was out of the question," Harry said. He struggled to put his school persona back on, instead of the calm and mysterious character Tom had created for him the day before. No need in one of Draco's friends getting suspicious.

"Well I'm glad you're better. I suppose you're coming back to school tomorrow, then?" Harry shrugged.

"Maybe. I think the doctor has to clear it, make sure I'm not contagious or anything," Harry lied. Blaise nodded.

"So you're here for Draco, I guess? I haven't seen him in a while, but I know he's around." Harry gave him what he hoped wasn't too strained a smile.

"Great. I'll just keep an eye out for him. I'm actually on my way out to the balcony, but I'll catch up with you later," the dancer said, smiling again and slipping past Blaise before the older boy could comment, or worse, offer to come with him. Harry walked quickly through the huge chiffon curtains and glass doors that opened to the balcony. The cold air washed over him as if he had just jumped into a pool and he sucked it in in heaving breaths. _Just make it through tonight. Just make it through tonight. Get it together. You can do this. _The teen grabbed the balcony railing to steady himself, closing his eyes.

After a moment he turned around and braved the crowd, once again searching for a flash of blonde hair or grey eyes. Every light haired male warranted a turn of his head, a backtrack. Suddenly a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and Harry gasped, whirling around in momentary panic. It was Anthony, who leaned in close. Harry tensed, but did not pull away.

"Stop looking for him," the man whispered. "Don't think Tom doesn't have many pairs of eyes on you tonight. And what do you think you're going to do once you find him? Explain to him with your _eyes _why you're going to start ignoring him post haste? If you so much as speak one word to that boy you may have well signed his death wish." He left Harry as suddenly as he had appeared. The dancer tried to quell his trembling. His bodyguard was right. Speaking to Draco would just get the blond wrapped up in everything. Harry tried to shake off the loneliness that threatened to suffocate him. Every eye that lighted on him now seemed like one of Tom's men watching him, ready to report everything to the man later in the evening. With a shudder Harry looked around the room until he spotted the grandfather clock. It hadn't been fifteen minutes, but he couldn't stand to be in the crowd any longer, wanting to look for Draco, to run to him, to kiss him…but not being able to.

Tom was there, talking within a small circle of five other people. Harry squared his shoulders and took his hands out of his pockets. Nothing to show insecurity or weakness. Nothing to show nerves. Nothing to show he was just a sixteen year old fuck up who was there against his will.

He was Harry Potter, who would one day lead the most powerful gang in the West Coast. And these men were going to know it.

Tom seemed to sense his presence, stepping back to open the circle up so Harry was visible to all the men. He felt five pairs of very calculating eyes looking him over, and gave them all a rather cold smile for their effort.

"Gentlemen, please meet one of my friends, Mr. Potter. He is my guest tonight." Hands reached out for him to shake, and Harry did so, putting on a politely disinterested face as if the men weren't worth his time. Tom gave him a small smile. No one mentioned the bruising on his face or neck.

"Is this your first time to the Malfoy ball?" One of the men asked.

"It is, Mr. Fudge," Harry replied, using the Mayor's name. There were several faces Tom had made him memorize the day before, knowing he would be speaking to them tonight. The mayor of the city had been one of those faces.

"Oh, forgive our manners!" The man hastily inserted. "We never introduced ourselves. I am, of course, Cornelius Fudge, and this is Mr. Kingsley Shackbolt, our police chief, as I'm sure you know, and Mrs. Susan Bones, the Secretary of State."

"And I am Victor Krum, and this is…"

"Mademoiselle Maxine. You may call me Aurelie, Mr. Potter," she said. Aurelie was taller than Harry by almost a head, with long blond hair that was done up in a fancy bun. Her face was aristocratic and European, and she had the faintest hint of a French accent. Her ball gown was simple and elegant, made of a dark blue satin that flowed around her legs as she shifted her weight. Harry nodded at her respectfully.

"We were just speaking of our plans for the Christmas holiday," Tom said lightly with a small smile. The others in the circle gave smiles of their own, which Harry took to mean they were not talking of Christmas plans at all.

"In that case, please, carry on. I'm very interested in what you all have planned," Harry drawled, raising an eyebrow. He steeled himself, preparing for a night of corrupt conversation that just listening to would be cause for five years in prison. And he had more than a listening role.

After the initial introduction was made Tom casually suggested they part ways to have dinner. Tom ate with Harry, and both of them kept a close eye on the other five guests.

"I have not mentioned you to them, save for your brief introduction. But they are aware of your importance. Be prepared to be approached by them when we are apart this evening. They will speak of plans and money and trades, and you will listen and comment when appropriate. I assume you know Krum and Maxine?"

"Of course, Tom. Don't forget where I came from," Harry spat. Tom laughed. Victor Krum was a Ukrainian citizen with ties to just about every arms deal—both legal and illegal—between Eastern Europe and Russia and the United States. Maxine was the daughter, and heir, to one of the largest prostitution and human trafficking rings in the country. Tom sure didn't fuck around.

"Victor and I have dealt extensively together, but I don't have much experience with little Ms. Aurelie. I must admit, her presence here is not attributed to me, but to someone else."

"I'll do my best," Harry said quietly, recognizing Tom's suggestion. Tom's dark eyes peered into his own for a long moment before Harry ripped his eyes away.

"I believe I've caught you in your element," Tom whispered with a genuinely soft smile. "You'll do well tonight, Harry." He got a sneer in return.

Tom was right, Harry thought, several hours and many involved conversations with the most powerful and dangerous men in the city later. He took the information given to him in a stride, pretending not to be shocked when Fudge asked him when Tom planned on making his traditional million-dollar campaign donation, or, does he think it could be more this year? He looked bored and disinterested when Victor pulled him aside and very quietly explained that if he was going to let Tom buy from him in the future the man couldn't go around murdering Victor's top guards. And he hardly gave Aurelie a raised brow when she motioned him into a private bathroom and handed him her hand mirror with a neat line of white powder on it.

"To get us through the night in one piece, Mr. Potter," she said with a smirk, as he shrugged and inhaled the drug. Truthfully, the high was welcome. Anything to get him out of his own head at this point.

Draco had not remained missing. Harry seemed to see flashes of his hair and smile all night, and while pretending not to care that Tom controlled the outcome of the mayoral election—and had for the past five years, from what Harry could tell—wasn't difficult, not turning his head to meet Draco's eyes was. Despite Anthony's warning, Harry had to see his boyfriend. Just…how to do so without getting Draco into trouble? Who could he trust to deliver a message to Draco?

Not Blaise, whose father had been connected to Lucius Malfoy all evening, not any of Tom's men, not even Anthony.

Surprisingly, Harry found his answer in the girl he spent the majority of his evening with, as per Tom's request. Aurelie, while arrogant, was also kind and charming in her own kind of way, although that could have been the drugs speaking. Harry spoke with her at length, charming her on the dance floor, bringing her drinks, whispering gossip (mostly made up) in her ear. It would be a good connection not only for Tom, but for himself as well.

Her attendance at the Malfoy ball was not random, however it was not business-related either, Harry discovered. Aurelie was attending as a guest of Narcissa Malfoy herself, who was friends with Aurelie's mother thanks to some runway incident in Italy that involved the two women years ago. Harry wondered if Narcissa had any idea who Madam Maxine truly was.

"Tell me about the Malfoy family. I know of Lucius, but not of the others. Does he have children?" Harry asked, sipping on a glass of cranberry and tonic. Aurelie nodded enthusiastically, taking Harry's unoccupied arm and turning him around. Harry found Draco quickly. He was dancing with some blonde bitch that Harry didn't know. He instantly hated her.

"His name is Draco. He's the tall blonde there, dancing with the petite blonde girl. Stunning, isn't he? A true Malfoy." Harry nodded appreciatively, and Aurelie giggled at his honestly.

"What's he like?"

"Sharp as a tack, and a wonderful violinist. He's been playing since he was a very small boy, or so my mother says."

"Is that so?" Harry asked absent-mindedly, still staring at his boyfriend as he glided around the room. Aurelie giggled again, shaking her head.

"It's always the handsome ones," she muttered, and Harry glared at her. She simply tossed her head.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Perhaps I should introduce you?" Harry bit his lip.

"May I put your powers of persuasion to the test, Mademoiselle?" Harry drawled. "I'm thinking of an introduction slightly more private. I could use some air, as well." Aurelie scoffed.

"It will hardly be a challenge. We can go out to the front gardens. I will be sure to give you plenty of time alone."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not planning on sleeping with him in the gardens. I just want to meet him." The girl rolled her eyes.

"Whatever you say, dearest Harry. Wait just outside the doors, there. Draco and I will be alone shortly," Aurelie said. Harry nodded and set his glass down on the nearest table, doing as Aurelie bid him. He slowly turned around and surveyed the crowd, looking for eyes that noticed him for too long, looking for Tom. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that didn't mean no one was watching. Harry turned and left the room, pretending to be looking for the bathroom.

He slipped out into the grand hall and continued going until he reached the grand staircase that led out the front into the gardens. There were still too many people around, so Harry continued walking until he was outside. The air was chilly enough to keep everyone else inside. It would give him and Draco enough privacy to have a brief conversation. Now he had to get Draco to play along.

"Harry!" Aurelie's voice called clearly into the night several minutes later.

"Harry?" Harry heard Draco say his name. "Is this the boy you're taking me to meet?"

"Yes. Sweetest little thing," Aurelie replied. "Where _are _you, Harry?"

"Here," Harry said, stepped out from behind a hedge. "And you must be Draco Malfoy, Lucius' son. You look so much like him," he added quickly, extending his hand. Draco looked both thrilled and confused, but after Harry glanced at Aurelie, Draco shook his hand warmly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Harry. Did you have to come all the way out here? It's freezing," Draco said with a small smile. Harry shrugged.

"Wanted to get away from the crowd, I supposed. We don't have to stay long, I should be getting back to keep an eye on Tom as is," Harry explained. He saw Draco's eyes narrow at the mention of Tom. Perhaps Severus had told him? Harry didn't know what to think of that.

"My cue to leave you two to…get acquainted," Aurelie said with a smirk, slipping her arm from Draco's and walking back inside after giving Harry a wink. As soon as she disappeared inside Harry grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him through the small gap in between the hedges. The garden was dark and silent and cold.

"Harry! Holy fuck…I…what are you doing here? What happened to your face? Have…I…just…." Draco exclaimed in a panic. Harry put a hand over his mouth.

"I don't have much time before Tom gets suspicious. I just…I had to see you. I think I can come to school tomorrow, and then I can tell you more. But for now, you need to pretend you don't know me. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't talk about me…just pretend I don't exist. Any time I see you outside of school we can't pretend to be…well, what we are."

"What the fuck is going on, Harry?" Draco demanded with narrowed eyes. Harry would have been intimidated in any other circumstance.

"Just trust me, Draco. I'll explain at school. Just, tell Snape that I'm okay, and that…I'm sorry all this happened. And…" Harry trailed off as he felt tears well up in his eyes. He couldn't cry. He couldn't look like anything happened as soon as soon as he walked through those huge doors. With his eyes closed Harry grabbed Draco's head and pulled him down for a kiss, immediately opening his mouth to Draco's tongue as it swept inside. Draco's strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling their bodies flush, and Harry's hands buried in Draco's hair for a moment before he pushed the boy away. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry…I have to go," Harry stammered out, pulling his gaze away from Draco and slipping back through the hedge.

When he entered the grand hallway and met Aurelie with a sly smile it was as if nothing had happened.

"So? What did you think?" Aurelie asked, another glass of champagne in her hand. Harry shrugged.

"Charming, handsome, all of the above. Thanks for the introduction, but, we best be getting back. I'm sure Tom will be wondering what I've gotten up to." Aurelie gave him a curious glance but went along with him anyway.

"He is an interesting man, that Mr. Riddle. How is it you know him?" Although Aurelie did not appear to be on any sort of business trip representing her mother, Harry wasn't going to take that chance and tell her the truth.

"We're old friends. He's acted as a mentor since my parents died." The brief tale with a hint of tragedy seemed to distract her, and Aurelie began murmuring apologizes and sympathies, forgetting all about Tom Riddle.

During the next two hours Harry saw Draco watching him almost constantly. But the blond never held his gaze for more than a moment, never betrayed whatever he may have been feeling. Had Harry not known that he and Draco were good friends—more than that, really—he didn't think he would have given their brief glances any mind. He hoped Tom's eyes wouldn't notice either.

Harry was doing shots with Aurelie by the end of the night, hoping to make the evening go by faster. Shortly after his brief rendezvous with Draco he had spoken briefly with Tom, sharing what he knew of Aurelie and her—apparently innocent—intentions, as well as the concerns Victor and Fudge confided in him. The Bones woman and Shackbolt hadn't bothered to speak with him. Tom took the information silently, but Harry assumed he had done well enough for Tom encouraged him to enjoy the rest of the evening. He took that as permission to get as drunk as possible without ruining his chances of going to school the next day, and without losing his ability to walk in a dignified manner.

So when Tom laid a hand on Harry's shoulder the teen looked up with a smirk and set the shot glass back down, pushing it toward the bartender. Aurelie batted her eyelashes at Tom in a mock flirt.

"Taking him away already? It's so early!" she exclaimed. Tom gave her a small bow, putting on his most charming smile. Had Harry not been drunk he would have been disgusted by it.

"Harry here has school in the morning, and with the trouble you two have got into all night I'm sure he's going to need a good night's sleep," Tom said. Harry slid off the bar stool, almost appreciating how Tom's hand tensed as if to steady him should he sway. No such steadying was needed, thankfully. Aurelie followed suit, wrapping Harry in a hug. He awkwardly returned it, glancing to Tom, who shrugged.

"Well I am staying with the Malfoy's for another week. I should love to see you again before I return to New York," she said, giving Harry a smile. "Where is your phone? I will put my number in it." Harry glanced at Tom. He didn't have his phone on him, because Tom hadn't given him one yet. Just as he was getting ready to spin a lie about why his phone was missing Tom slid his out of his pocket.

"I've been holding it for him all night. What's your number? I'll enter it," the older man offered. Aurelie seemed to think nothing of it but Harry let a hint of a smile show on his face. That had been…nice…of Tom.

After Harry had given Aurelie his goodbyes and promises to meet with her again, Tom led him around the room to say goodbye to the Mayor, police chief, and Victor Krum. Susan Bones had already departed. Last on their list was Lucius Malfoy himself, the man Harry had spent almost as much effort avoiding as he had Draco. Lucius was a tall lean man with long blonde hair just a shade darker than Draco's. It had been kept in a sophisticated pony tail at the nape of his neck for most of the night, but as he and Tom walked up to the man Harry saw it had been let loose.

"Ah, Tom, I'm so sorry we didn't spend more time catching up. Another time, perhaps?" Lucius said, shaking Tom's hand warmly. Harry couldn't tell if their friendship was as fake as he guessed it to be, or not.

"Of course, Lucius. And you certainly know Mr. Potter, here," Tom introduced, ushering Harry forward. Harry shook Lucius' hand, stomping down the nerves that even the alcohol couldn't rid. He had no idea if Draco spoke about him to his father, so he had no idea if Lucius knew who Harry Potter Tom's friend was, versus Harry Potter his son's boyfriend was. Lucius' face was blank as he shook his hand, so at least their meeting now wasn't going to be dramatic. Harry had the feeling Lucius wasn't going to like the idea of Draco dating another boy, let alone one from Thirteenth District.

…

Draco sprinted up the stairs and down the hall until he got to his room, where his phone lay on his bed. Breathless, he dialed Severus' number, praying that his teacher answered.

"_Draco?"_

"Harry's here. He's…okay. But he can't talk to me and he's hanging out with my houseguest and Tom Riddle, and I keep seeing him talking with Fudge and this guy who doesn't sound like he's from the U.S.. Maybe Russian? I can't tell. But he's okay, and he said he was coming to school tomorrow," Draco blurted out quickly. There was a long silence. "His face is really bruised, too."

"_Harry's there_?" Snape clarified.

"God, _yes, _that's what I just said!" Draco exclaimed.

"_Thank you for informing me, Draco._" The line clicked.

"Wait! Severus? Severus are you there?!" Draco threw his phone back on his bed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He wanted Snape to _do _something, not just hang up. Still breathing hard, he sank onto his bed and flopped onto his back. Tom Riddle…why would Harry be hanging around him? And Aurelie? Maybe Aurelie knew something.

…

Harry let Tom lead him away from Lucius and towards the door, inwardly grateful that they didn't spend long speaking with the aristocratic blonde. The man's piercing grey eyes—so similar to Draco's—unnerved him just as much, if not more, than Tom himself did.

"Did you enjoy Ms. Maxine?" Tom murmured softly. Harry shrugged, accepting his coat from the doorman. It wasn't really his coat—well, Tom insisted it was—it was more like on loan from Tom. It was by far the warmest article of clothing he had owned in the last several years. Even so, the night was freezing, and Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed how cold it was when he was outside with Draco earlier.

"She was fine. Seemed nice."

"I have never thought a Maxine could ever be _nice," _Tom spat.

"I presume you know the mother?" Harry guessed with a smirk. Tom glared at him and didn't reply. Harry took that as a bitter 'yes.' He turned his head to get a last glance at the Manor, and was pleasantly surprised to see Draco staring at him from the door. Harry was all too aware of Tom's arm, which had slid around Harry's shoulders. He felt disgustingly owned—just how Tom wanted him to feel. Draco crossed his arms but his face was blank, and Harry turned away from him to avoid the striking gaze.

"Riddle." The voice was cold and angry, and Harry jerked his head to the side. Severus stood there, arms at his sides, hands balled into fists. He looked furious.

"Ah, Severus. I was surprised you weren't here earlier. You missed the party, you know," Tom drawled, his arm tightening around Harry and effectively locking the teen against his side.

"Potter is not your _property,_" Severus snarled. "You cannot expect to kidnap him, withhold him from school and work, and think no one will be any wiser. People all over the school are asking questions." Tom shrugged.

"So? Harry can lie, I'm sure it'll work out."

"Or he'll be expelled, assumed to be missing school for…I don't know…_gang _activity," the professor snapped, his tone of voice making it very clear that he did know. Harry's heart jumped into his throat. Punished? Detention? Sure. But he never thought he would be expelled!

"I don't care, Severus. No school, no work, would make Harry here a very interesting boy. I certainly wouldn't mind the extra time with him." Harry lunged away from, panicked at Tom's words. Of course, Tom acted quickly, his arm slipping around Harry's throat and yanking him back. Harry's eyes widened when he realized he couldn't breathe…Tom was choking him. His hands scrabbled to grab onto Tom's forearm that was so tightly pressed against his windpipe, but after a moment of tugging and clawing and scratching Harry realized it wasn't going to convince Tom to let him go.

"Jesus Tom no one wants the boy dead, even you," Severus said, rushing towards Harry.

"Stay where you are Severus. The boy dies if I want him to, lives how I want him to, and goes to fucking school when I want him to. Do you understand?" Tom growled. Severus halted, but stayed silent. The pressure on Harry's throat increased and spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

"Yes, yes I understand. Let him go," Severus choked out, pleading. Tom just raised an eyebrow.

"Hit a nerve, did I? Scared I'll let Harry suffocate? Die right here, in my arms?" Harry's arms fell away from where they were fighting Tom's iron grip. _No no no, keep fighting, _he thought, but his arms wouldn't do it. Black was taking over his vision.

"Tom! Tom what are you doing to him?" That was Draco, Harry knew. _No…he can't get involved._

"Stay out of this, Draco. Let Tom and Severus handle their own affairs. But Tom, do it off my property." Lucius.

"Please Tom, you're going to kill him! Let him go!" Draco again.

"Tom, even now you may…causing…ain damage…please…" They were fading, until all Harry knew was black.

Harry went limp in Tom's arm, and Tom let him fall gracelessly to the frozen grass, dusted with snow. Draco was prevented from rushing forward by his father's grip on his arm.

"Draco, get inside _now. _Forget you saw this," Lucius hissed in his son's ear.

"Father, that boy…"

"_Now!" _Draco took a look at Harry, pale, bruised, and lying on the ground, and ran back into the house. Severus would help him. And he didn't want Tom or his father to see the tears now pouring down his face. His whole body was shaking as he bounded up the steps and crashed through the front doors, only to collapse as soon as he was inside.

"Draco? What's wrong? What's going on out there?" Aurelie was at his side, her delicate hands rubbing his back, trying to coax him off the floor. He shook his head, desperately trying to get his breathing and sobbing back under control.

"Just…Severus came…and Tom…killed Harry…well…suffocated…"

"_What_?!" Aurelie shouted. "Tom just killed Harry?" Draco shook his head again.

"No, no that's…at least…I don't think so…"

"Come on, off the floor. Let's go upstairs and you can explain to me what's going on," Aurelie said more gently, pulling Draco to a standing position and walking with him up the large staircase. By the time they reached the top Draco had dried the tears from his face and regulated his breaths. His head was spinning. What had Harry done to deserve that? What was Tom thinking? Why did Severus come? Was Harry going to be okay? What the fuck was going on? He looked at his companion and noticed she was looking back, concern in her blue eyes. He knew he couldn't trust her. She was just the daughter of one of his mother's friends. Or was she? Draco didn't know any more. She had come at a random time, and she had seemed to know most of the influencial people at the party earlier, despite living in a city across the country. She certainly knew Harry and Tom, and Tom was perhaps the most sketchy person Draco could think of at the moment. Harry's unconscious face just flashed before his eyes until Draco pressed his palms against them, wishing he could rip them out and never have to see that again. "Draco, you're scaring me. Please…what is going on?" Aurelie demanded, her hand on his arm. Draco shook it off and let her inside his room, shutting the door. He whirled around, facing her.

"Why are you here?" he ground out, narrowing his eyes. His sharp change in demeanor made Aurelie stumble back in surprise.

"What?" she breathed.

"I said, why are you here? Why now?" She shook her head, eyes wide.

"It was a convenient time for me to come. I've never been here before, and your mother always spoke highly of it."

"Not good enough."

"I swear! This has nothing to do with…" she bit her lip, and Draco narrowed his eyes further, advancing on her.

"Nothing to do with what? _What, _Aurelie?" he shouted.

"Nothing to do with my mother," she whispered, her shoulders suddenly slouched. Draco blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"My mother, she…she does a lot of bad things, like that Tom Riddle."

"Is that how you know Tom, through your mother? Did she send you here?"

"I told you! I'm not here because of her. I'm really here to get away from her, if only for a few weeks. And I don't know Mr. Riddle! I've only heard of him. He…" Aurelie paused. "Wait, you don't know about him? Who he is?" she asked. Draco shrugged.

"He does business with my father regularly. That's all I know. Lucius doesn't let me ask about his business, so I don't." Aurelie sighed.

"Draco, I know we're not the best of friends, and we really just met each other, but we need to trust each other. I can't tell you what I know if I think you may tell it to someone else, and you can't tell me what you know if you think I'll tell. I'll trust you, if you'll trust me," she offered. Draco crossed the room to his closet, entering, and returning a moment later with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured one and handed it to Aurelie, ushering her to sit in an armchair near the fireplace. He sat down opposite from her with his own glass.

"I'll trust you, but only because I care about Harry, and I want to help him with whatever mess he's gotten himself in to." Aurelie shook her head, sipping on her drink. Care about Harry? The two boys had practically just met!

"What do you mean? Wait," she held her hand up, "never mind. I'll start."

"My mother runs a relatively large organized crime unit out of New York and the East Coast in general. She knows about Riddle the same way I assume Riddle knows about her. You can't keep people from talking, and someone who is someone is bound to overhear at some point. Riddle runs one of the largest gangs in this side of the country, from what I figure. He's incredibly powerful, and incredibly dangerous. I'm sorry that your father is somehow wrapped up in it." Draco listened intently, surprised, by not shocked. Especially not shocked to think that he father may have a hand in illegal business. It would be like Lucius to take any advantageous opportunity that unearthed itself, legal or not.

"So…how do you know Harry?" he asked.

"I don't, not really. I just met him tonight, Riddle introduced us. He just said Harry was a friend of his, and Harry has said nothing different, although I noticed he was talking often with Victor Krum—another Riddle-like character—as well as the mayor of your city. He's not just any friend of Riddle's, that's for sure."

"What makes you say that?" Draco asked, taking a large gulp of his drink and trying not to cough as it burned its way down his throat. His eyes stung, but the buzz in his head was the best thing he had felt all night—with exception to having Harry's lips on his, hours earlier.

"A man like Riddle wouldn't just bring any friend with him to a party with such prestigious guests, and even if he had, the mayor would not pay any attention to just any old friend of Riddle, no matter how powerful he his. Harry has Riddle's ears, but that's all I know. And it's mostly just assumptions," she finished. "Your turn. What do you know?"

"Very little. But…and you can't tell _anyone_…Harry and I are friends from school. We've known each other for months. But whatever he's wrapped up in he wants me far away from it. He wasn't even supposed to talk with me tonight, and after our brief meeting he told me to pretend we didn't know each other. He's never mentioned Riddle to me, but he hasn't been in school for the past four days and I'm guessing it's because Riddle's had him. Beat the fuck out of him too, from the look of Harry's face." His eyes darkened. "And then just now I saw Riddle choke Harry until he passed out. I don't know what happened, but I ran when my father told me to leave it alone. He's not someone to fuck with, and there was nothing I could do to help Harry anyway."

"Oh my god. But…but none of that makes sense! Riddle and Harry are friends!" Aurelie exclaimed. Draco gave her a halfhearted glare.

"I have a feeling they're not as friendly as Riddle would like everyone to believe," he muttered, pouring himself another glass. "Harry would never leave school for four days unless Tom was making him. And he would never cut off contact with his friends…or me." Aurelie was silent.

"I'm worried about him, now," she said softly, playing with her empty glass. Draco nodded and pushed himself up, taking another gulp of scotch. His eyes watered.

"Join the club. But we can't do anything about it now," he spat bitterly. The young woman's eyes followed him.

"If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know. I may not know Harry very well, but I hate to see him in such a situation."

"You didn't seem to mind it all evening," Draco sneered. Aurelie rolled her eyes.

"I was under the impression Harry desired to be at Riddle's side for most of the evening. I had no reason to doubt their friendship until now." Draco rubbed his face then dragged a hand through his hair. He sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge." He walked across the room and flung open the balcony doors, which overlooked the lawn. From the third floor, Harry—still crumpled on the ground—Tom, Severus, and his father looked tiny. He turned away from the scene, not wanting to see Harry lying there at Tom's feet. Why wasn't anyone helping him? What if he hadn't started breathing again?

"Why don't you lie down, try to get some sleep," Aurelie suggested, rising from her own chair. She set her glass down on the table near it and joined him on the balcony. Her blue eyes darkened when she noticed Harry's still form on the lawn, many yards below. Draco nodded.

"I suppose there's nothing else I can do, really." She nodded and gave him a quick hug before gliding out of the room, her ball gown swirling around her ankles. Draco didn't watch her go.

He stripped off his tuxedo, throwing the garment haphazardly across a chair for one of the maids to deal with in the morning. Once he was clad in a t-shirt and track pants, Draco crawled into bed and turned on his bedside lamp. He clapped three times to turn the rest of the lights off. The room seemed more familiar in this light, its sophisticated furniture less oppressive, the large fireplace less intimidating.

Draco lay awake for an hour before giving up and getting out of bed. When he finally broke down and succumbed to the urge to look back over the lawn Harry, and Tom and Severus, were nowhere to be seen. He hoped Severus was all right. Mostly he hoped Harry was alive.

Nervous energy was coursing through him. Harry had said he would be at school tomorrow. Would he actually be there? Even if he was okay after what Tom did to him, would he be allowed to come? Would Tom do something to Severus for intervening? He shook his head, hard, and raked his hands through his hair, tugging on it. It was no use worrying about it all night. Anxiously, Draco dialed Severus' number and waited for him to answer. _Please be there. Please be okay._

"_Draco_?" The teen could have cried for relief.

"Oh my god, Sev. Are you okay? Where…What happened? I'm freaking out," he admitted, pacing around his room to dispel energy.

"_Calm down, Draco. I'm fine. I'm back at my house. Harry is still with Tom, who refused to return him tonight."_

"Is Harry…is he okay?"

"_Yes. Unless something else happens tonight, which neither of us can control, Harry will be at school tomorrow, I presume." _Draco heaved a sigh of relief, sinking onto his bed. He took a few more breaths. "_Are you all right?" _Severus asked slowly. His voice was calming.

"I…yes. I'm fine. I was just worried. I'm still worried."

"_You won't help Harry by worrying about him. Try and get some sleep."_

"I can't sleep."

"_Then practice," _Severus suggested. Draco glanced to his violin, which was hanging on the wall.

"Okay."

"_Goodnight, Draco. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier tonight."_

"You don't have to apologize. Goodnight, Sev," Draco replied.

Draco practiced.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading up until this point! I love to hear from each and every one of you, even if it's just a few words. It inspires me to keep writing!

Wykkyd


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